


Missing Connection

by Si1verEye



Category: GoldenEye (1995), GoldenEye: Rogue Agent (Video Game), James Bond (Classic movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassins & Hitmen, Dark, Female Protagonist, Fights, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Guns, Organized Crime, POV Female Character, Post-Movie(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD, Revenge, Russian Mafia, Scars, Terrorism, Villains, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 71,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Si1verEye/pseuds/Si1verEye
Summary: "SilverEye": Janus Syndicate operative, hoping to escape from her employer's seizure. She'll soon meet a dangerous rival, and find herself into a deadly crossfire... Who can she trust more? The Lienz Cossack, or the Rogue Agent? (Reunion of GoldenEye and GoldenEye Rogue Agent/originally published on fanfiction.net)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note:  
> The following text is not definitive, as I reread it from time to time. If you ever notice any incoherence in your reading, it is likely that something has been changed within the previous chapters. I'd also point that reviews would be very welcomed, but even if you don't feel like writing one I still thank you very much for having some interest in my humble work. Enjoy your reading!  
> This fic originally was posted on fanfiction.net - explaining why the publishing dates up to chapter 26 are prior to my arrival here on AO3 - so I guess people who have already come across it back there won't have any other surprise than discovering the formatting I use in my personal Word file and the additional tags. Also, as I didn't keep track of the previous 'Newest update' notes (and as I don't want to overload the story with such notes, in any case), I won't put more of these in chapters here than on ffnet... I don't want to make anyone jealous ;)  
> Anyway, enough nitpicking and welcome to you too AO3 readers!
> 
> About languages:  
> I'm a native French speaker having learnt English for twelve years, so I think there shouldn't be big problems with these two - I hope, at least. Bear in mind that it isn't the case with the Thai, Japanese, Azeri, Ossetian and most importantly Russian used throughout the text. I've never learnt a single word of these at school, and even with a lot of time-consuming ressearch on the internet I can't guarantee total correctness in my attempts at using them. Just feel free to point out any error I made.  
> Also, please note that chapters 1 to 8 have been beta read by the awesome Charkes; and I'd like to warmly thank here my trusted collaborator KaijuDirectorOO7 for all the feedback and good ideas he brought to the newer chapters of this fic.
> 
> Newest update (06/15/2018):  
> Where should I start... six months is quite a lengthy gap between two publications, and this one quite had its twists and turns. Among other things, an aborted attempt at rewriting chapter 1 with updated setting and writing style, an unfinished one-shot (though I won't spoil you about that one, since it can still become a thing in a not so distant future) and the usual struggles with both my inspiration and school work.  
> I warn you though - especially if you're a long time reader -, this newest chapter required some slight changes in all the 'Xenia chapters' (8, 9, 11, 24 and 25), since I've decided that making her a South Ossetian rather than a Georgian would more sense storywise, and that it would be a shame not to call her by the oh so appropriate moniker John Gardner gave her in his novelization of GoldenEye - 'spider'.  
> Otherwise, I'm really happy to have finally brought Valentin back in this story after two years of absence. He'll always hold a special place in my heart, and I hope chapter 32 does him justice. Lastly, stay tuned; you might eventually get not one, but two one shots... but I can't tell you more about it right now, Janus people are real sticklers for secrecy.
> 
> PS: by the way, I keep promoting here my standalone one-shot, 'Alluring Warlord'. If you haven't read it yet, now you have something to do in your spare time ;)

_> Playlist starting…  >>>>> Chapter one >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Kavinsky, "First Blood"_

_"As the lightning strikes… you have to start the fight…  
You're shiftin' gears, you're punishing…_ _you step through the night…_

_I know you… I know you…"_

The cell phone vibrated against her hip. She grunted, as she wanted her full concentration for jumping to the opposite rooftop. The priority was to get to the objective, nothing else. Ignoring the incoming call, she leant back, limbering up to take the jump and then sprung off gaining momentum. At the very edge of the roof, just before the ground dropped away, she started to fly over the void beneath her. A split second later, she landed in a perfect _roulade_ , rolling from the upper back to the left hip, managing keeping the phone untouched.

As she stood up, she mechanically pulled up her sweatshirt's hood, while breathing deeply. Here she was. She could now see the whole building site, straight ahead. Her face formed a satisfied smile, before she pressed a small button on her Bluetooth headset.

"Sir, I made it."

"Excellent. Just in time to welcome our guest."

"Where is he?"

"In the site's central freight elevator, he should arrive in a few minutes."

She nodded silently. Her target had been sent to assassinate a notorious criminal mastermind going by the name _Doctor No_ , who was based in one of the surrounding towers. The target was expecting to find a sniper rifle to achieve his goal, left there by the local Triad boss for a nominal fee. But the same Triad boss, allied to No, warned him of the affair. So the doctor rang one of his most reliable associates and asked to send someone to terminate the target. Someone _efficient_ , the Doctor disliked mess.

Moving forward, she found a large silver, corrugated aluminum case. Opening it she pulled out a German made DSR-1. It was clean enough to be brand new, but it felt good as she seated it in her left shoulder. She had a smug smile, as looking down the sight barely a hundred meters away from her position an identical but empty case sat exposed.

As she prepared for the hit she slowly ran her fingers along the barrel, amazed. She wouldn't have guessed that Hong Kong Triads could get such advanced equipment. The weapon was surprisingly lightweight and well balanced, even with two magazines attached. She checked the rear one: it was filled with five .308 Winchester cartridges. ‘ _More than enough to blow some brains out’_ , she thought while attaching the provided suppressor. Then she cocked and loaded, sharply pulling the bolt action handle.

"Still with me?" the masculine voice asked in her headset.

"Yes sir. I'm ready."

"Good. It is time."

She lay down, shut the right eye, stuck the left one to the scope. The target had just appeared, exiting the elevator. From her point of view it was only a dark silhouette, moving rapidly towards _the case_. In a trice, he had already opened it, before suddenly throwing it down, an obvious demonstration of his anger. She smiled again, waiting to get his head right in the center of the reticle. He paused for a second and she pulled the trigger.

The target crumpled, disappearing into the shadows of the building site.

"Target down."

"Then you'd rather hurry to the extraction point, my dear."

"Got it.", she grumbled.

She rose up, leaving the rifle in its case: it would be removed by a Triad member. As she began running to the rooftop's right edge, she was pleased to see that the Triad boss held to his promise and installed a zip line granting access to the construction yard. She jumped on it, both hands grabbing the free moving pulley, and she soon found herself at the building site.

Her next objective was the freight elevator. It was currently her only way to the highest level, the roof of which had not been built, allowing an effortless helicopter extraction. She therefore made her way to the elevator's entrance, looking briefly where the body lay. However the area was dimly lit, making it hard to make out more than vague outlines. She sighed disappointedly, having expected to see at least a little bit more.

Suddenly an arm slammed against her neck, pinning her to a man’s body as her unknown assailant tried to choke her. Surprised by the stealth attack, she didn't understand at first what was going on. She started suffocating and attempted to struggle, trying to free herself from her aggressor, but he appeared to be far too strong to do it the easy way.

Quickly concentrating all her strength into her legs, she kicked off with a desperate energy. He held her firmly enough to keep her from escaping right away, so she pressed her shoulders against his to lift her feet the highest possible, then slammed down. In harmony with all her hopes the impact loosened his grip; still she had to elbow her way out before using her remaining stamina to throw a vicious kick into the man's face. Hearing a stifled cry she guessed that she got it right, yet a mere second later he had already snapped back with an even fiercer determination to knock her out.

Since she could see his shadow, she didn't hesitate using a _Mawashi Geri_ technique to strike her opponent in the chest, spinning her hip to throw her right leg straight to her target. To her irritation the man was faster than she thought, and had already moved to the left. She realized the extent of her mistake as he quickly seized her ankle and fiercely twisted it.

Even as she was in torment, she restrained a cry of pain and managed to keep her nerve as she quickly searched for another angle of attack. Suddenly, he grabbed more of her leg, pulling her towards him. He was still pulling her closer, when she jumped on him with a violent head butt.

As she expected, they fell together and she had the advantage of being on top. She punched him in the chest to stun him, crossed her arms around his neck and began tightening in _Juji Jime_ style. He clearly didn't enjoy it at all and she had to firmly maintain her grip. But all her efforts weren’t enough to finish him, as he managed to slightly lift, then striking her in the belly with a strength she couldn’t hope to match. She fell on her back, unable to prevent him from standing up, he then pulled her up by the collar of her hoodie… and threw her head against his knee.

Again she crashed into the ground, breathless. _Damn_ , she didn't expect such an accomplished opponent on a simple hit like this. _'Who the hell is he?',_ she wondered _._ In that shadows and speed of the fight, she didn't even see his face. Actually, she hadn't been aware that _the target_ would be accompanied. For an unpleasant surprise, it was one of the worst of her life.

Fortunately, he hadn't the brains to finish her immediately. He was looking around for a weapon, so he could gain an advantage over close quarters combat. She took that opportunity to rest for a few seconds, gathering her energy. Hearing hasty footsteps, she looked up… rolling away in an instant, preventing her head from being burst by a crowbar.

She jumped on her feet, taking a martial arts stance. It was time for _round two_.

He was watching her carefully, two hands gripping the metal bar. He was far too calm. Was he so self-confident about the result? ' _Well!_ ' He’d see that his arrogance was a mistake: she was no more worried by an armed foe than an unarmed one. However, this time she wouldn't make the error of pouncing recklessly, especially when he held such an advantage, stronger and harder hitting. They were poised, waiting for the other to attack, searching for even the slightest single flaw in their opponent's guard.

Suddenly, he rushed on her, the crowbar heading for her chest. She leant back, rotated and stretched one leg to throw her heel into his ribs, but he anticipated her move, fluidly rolling over her leg. She narrowly dodged an arcing crowbar swing at her ankles, then moved backwards as another came dangerously close to her heart and ribcage. ' _Enough!'_

In a flash of anger, she found herself brutally grabbing the crowbar and trying to tear it away from him. They struggled for it, each of them always pulling harder than the other at the crucial moment, so neither gained an advantage. She finally gained an upper hand as his grip slipped and she took the initiative, kicking the weapon up and away with a harsh _Kiai_ shout. ' _Now the hunter is turned into the prey.'_ , she thought with a cruel satisfaction. Now she could put an end to all of this.

Dodging a swinging kick, she could at last drive her fist into his face, knuckles first. Once, twice, thrice and a fourth time. She pulled back for another blow when she noticed the metal bar fell closer to them than she thought. She flipped to grab it in an impressive backflip then jumped again on her fallen adversary, the crowbar ready to be brought down on his head.

She thought in a moment that she saw him widening the eyes at the tool's approach, but a split second later he twisted managing to narrowly escape the hook of the crowbar that dented the fresh set concrete where his head had been. While she was still wondering how she could miss a blow like that, he planted his foot at her waist level, sending her flying over him dropping the crowbar. She hadn't recovered yet from the winding and he grabbed her raising her up, holding her over his shoulder.

_"Know that there’s a thunder deep inside of you…  
It makes you think it’s all a dream… it cannot be true…_

_Wheelin' hell!… Wheelin' hell!…"_

_'What the hell are you doing?',_ she asked mentally. She kept struggling, more aggressively than ever. It all left him in the cold, only concentrated on what he planned to do. ' _But what? What do you want from me? Where are you carrying me to?_ '

It all became unreal around her, almost frozen in lurching slow motion. Now she could see him clearly, as she was falling away. He had a handsome face, if you ignored the blood, but it didn’t really matter now. She reached out for his hand, as though she was still hoping for him to save her. But it was too late… he was too far and she was clutching at thin air. A pained smile crossed her face, closed her eyes, and all faded to black.

_"Without love… without my desire…  
I see a thing that is not real… but I’m still alive…_

_I know you… I know you…"_


	2. Chapter 2

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter two >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Garbage, "The World is not Enough"_

_" I know how... to hurt...  
I know how... to kill..._

_I know what... to show...  
And what to... conceal..."_

"Good morning my dear. How's your _leg_ ?"

Rhetorical question. Since it was currently encased in a cast, it wasn't difficult to figure out what her leg had _suffered_. After her fall it wasn't too high a price to pay, though she wondered, had she really been lucky to be sitting here again in that seat?

The man who was facing her had all the hallmarks of a well to do businessman; approaching his mid-forties, softly spoken, always having his reddish blond hair perfectly parted and his expensive suits well-tailored. That particular day, for example, he was wearing his signature double-breasted black suit and leather shoes along with a dark grey shirt. When she was younger, she would certainly have naively described him as _elegant_ , even _attractive_.

Yet behind this appearance was hiding a ruthless, manipulative criminal warlord. A fact that she was reminded of when she saw the terrible _burn_ ; starting on the upper right cheek, next to the eye, and extending down to his collar.

“I don’t believe you’ll be in any position to serve me for some weeks, will you?”

' _Serve me'_. Already using that expression.

"Technically, I can't do anything, for some weeks." she simply stated.

" _Technically_ , I lost money." he imitated. "You know what that means."

She looked at him. His face wasn't revealing any emotion, still she thought maybe his piercing blue-green eyes were narrower than usual. No doubt he was inwardly furious. As for the ' _what that means_ '... she had experienced the same situation only once, but she'd had preferred it to not happen again. Especially given the circumstances.

"How much?"

"A hundred thousand for that contract."

"In... _dollars_...?" she murmured with a shiver.

He didn't even answer. Of course it was dollars, he'd had never accepted payment in bills other than green ones. As such a bunch of cash slipped through his fingers, what he wanted now was to claim it back from her, again. Last time's twenty-five thousand had only been equivalent to six months’ worth of pay, but then _four times_ that... it was sheer madness.

"I can't afford..."

"This is not up for questioning." he brutally cut her off, but without raising the voice. "You _will_ pay me back, as painful for you as it will be. At least I'll be guaranteed you'll take aim a little more seriously next time."

Her eyes widened at the last sentence.

"With all due respect, sir... I shot the first target. As I was ordered."

"Which _first target_? He was alone."

"I fought against another one."

"No you didn't. You clearly missed your shot."

She looked away, no longer understanding anything. She had seen the target collapsing right after she had pressed the trigger. She couldn't believe he was _immortal_ or something. While she had never seen what the target looked like since she had never had information about him, she had seen the face of the guy who had thrown her overboard. Still, racking her brain to remember it was to no avail. The fall made her totally forget what she did see, everything was shadows and adrenaline fueled tunnel vision. Preventing any chance of getting that matter cleared up.

"Remind me what is under your _lens_ , would you?"

She frowned, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. She had a slight shiver, but decided to do what he wanted. She lowered the head to take off the contact lens covering her left eye. Although its right twin was emerald green, that one hadn't a natural color at all. It wasn't even gray, but artificially silver-hued.

"Half a million dollars to recover your full line of sight, if I remember correctly?" he asked. "I must admit it was worth it, but I am beginning to wonder if you really can pay back your debt."

"And then what? I won't be more able to pay it."

"So you should endeavor to do your best from now on."

She slightly gritted her teeth. He was already enjoying his new right to wear her out _for free_. Normally, anybody who would have accused her of being incompetent would disappear before they had the opportunity to carry on getting on her nerves like he did. But she had reasons to make an exception when dealing with him. Not only she knew him to hit _damn_ hard, but he was also, unlike her current state, _always_ armed. Besides, lashing out at a powerful criminal leader whose money was much needed wasn't the best idea she could have.

Six years ago, back when he hired her, he obviously had more expanded on the money she could make than on the impossibility to get out of his claws. Yet defectors were always tracked down, coming back into the ranks or getting killed, so running away wasn't an option. He could be proud of it, really. If she had known she'd have to be his puppet until she died and double died, she would never have sold him her soul as she certainly had when accepting his deal.

"I think we'll end here. Enjoy your rest while it lasts, as I'll send you on the field as soon as you'll be operational again."

As he opened a silver laptop, she took her crutches and struggled to her feet. She sighed and made for the office's door. Just before exiting, she turned around to face him one last time.

"Goodbye sir."

His eyebrows slightly rose at her acid tone, but he didn't look up from what he was doing.

"Goodbye Kaiko."

_"People... like us...  
Know how to... survive..._

_There's no point... in living...  
If you can't feel... the life..."_

She found herself in the main entry hall of the building. She couldn't contain a nervous chuckle while looking at the Cyrillic characters engraved on the plate topping the reception desk  : 'Третьяк оружейная корпорация' (Tretyak oruzheynaya korporatsiya), the _Tretyak arms corporation_ in English. It was quite amusing for her that one of the most modern towers in St Petersburg was named after a company owned by one of the most powerful Russian crime syndicates.

Even if the Tretyak Corporation was a real weapon seller and exporter company, the identity of its leader – _Sevastian Yakovich Tretyak_ – was completely fictional. It would be more accurate to call the reddish blond man _Janus_ , the name he went by when he founded the weapon trafficking organization known within the Russian mob as 'Янус синдикат' (Yanus sindikat). Easily translated to the _Janus Syndicate_.

Once having taken the elevator to the underground parking lot, she rapidly moved to a silver Chevrolet Corvette C4, manufactured back in 1984. Yet, an expert look would have revealed it had some rather _exotic_ features for an eighties coupé; six-speed transmission, ABS, xenon lamps or even an LS7 engine, more than two times the horsepower of the original L83.

All the modern parts – including new brakes and suspension – had been bought on the black market, and were those of a thirty-years newer Corvette C6 Z06, stolen somewhere in Western Europe. With a little more than a year, some million Russian Rubles, and the aid of a friendly local mechanic, they ended up on the once out of order C4 bought for next to nothing. The update had surpassed all the expectations; when driven in town, it usually stood out from classic cars, sometimes even outperforming the _posers'_ contemporary decked out supercars.

As she approached the Corvette, its engine started while headlamps flipped up in the _characteristic_ half-turn. She smiled: ' _Who would get tired of turning the lights on in such way?_ ' She quickly sat on the passenger side, the car accelerating as it left the basement car park.

The driver was her long-time friend Jessika Irineyevna Pajari, a two-years younger than her St Petersburg native whose Karelian roots justified the Finnish sounding surname. She had short dark sandy blond hair, bright blue eyes and discreet freckles on the upper face, while the two little round ball ends of a piercing were running along her outer left eyebrow.

As wanting above all to improve her fluency, she had asked Kaiko early in their relationship to speak with her primarily in English. The latter accepted, as the language change was no challenge, and the result was actually pretty nice. Jessika's accent had nearly disappeared, and her current use of Russian while talking to her friend was only for certain issues, like emphasizing her speech. 

"So?" she asked "Bad news?"

"According to you?"

"Well… either he has blown a fuse, or else he has taken advantage of the situation."

"That's basically the correct order."

Jessika raised the eyebrows, gearing up to overtake a sluggish Lada Kalina.

"What's the new dirty trick?"

"Saving the money I'd have been paid with for _some time_."

"Twenty-five _grand_ , again?"

"A hundred."

" _Как?!_ " ( _Kak?!_ , _What?!)_

The blond girl was quite rightly staggered, as far as making her repeat in Russian.

"Ты сказала – _сто_?" (Ty skazala – _sto_?, _Did you say a hundred?)_

"Да, чёртовы сто." (Da, chortovy sto., _A goddamned hundred, yes._ ), Kaiko affirmed with annoyance.

" _What the hell...?!_ It's... not even your fault!"

"Would you picture yourself telling him that?"

"No, I wouldn't. Since he knows our weaknesses, our beloved _two-faced_ prefers to strip the _politesse_ from discussions."

"He holds a gun to our heads, Jessi. It's becoming way too _hazardous_ for us."

The latter sighed, while stopping at a red light.

"You know that the gun he holds is precisely why _we can't_ get out of the синдикат." (She always pronounced that word the Russian way when it referred to their employer.) "Remember that Mesyats tried... he ended up between _someone's legs_ within three months!"

"Mesyats was an idiot. He should have known he had no chance to make it as a freelance."

"What would we do in his place? We are _alone_." Her friend answered with silence "You know, I don't want to die for nothing."

"Neither do I.", Kaiko bitterly acknowledged. "I don't even want to know how _they_ 'd put us to death."

"Ой (Oy), don't speak about that."

Her passenger lowered the head.

"Then we're... stuck here."

"Let's think of something else to talk about, shall we?"

"I don't know... what we can do tonight, for example?"

"Watching a movie I'd like to see?"

"It'd better be a good one then."

Jessi hesitated for a second, but decided to fire away.

"Would a nineties' sci-fi comedy save the day?"

"It'd be easier for me if you'd say the title, _Miss Genius_."

"I wanted to impress you with the French, but wait... oh, yes, the... _Sinkooaim Element_."

" _Le Cinquième Elément_ ", Kaiko corrected with a kind smile. " _The Fifth Element_ in English."

"Yeah, that's the one. Bruce Willis, Gary Oldman and all." (Her friend had an agreeing nod.) "Have I well chosen?"

"Believe me, you deserve a hug for that choice."

 _"I... I feel... sick..._  
_I... I feel... scared..._  
_I... I feel... ready.._.

_And yet unprepared..."_


	3. Chapter 3

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter three >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Paul Engemann, "Push it to the Limit"_

_"Push it to the limit…_  
  
_Walk along… the razor's edge…_  
 _But don't look down… just keep your head…_  
 _And you'll be finished."_

Slaloming between a long queue of stationary cars, a blue and white Honda CBR 600 ignored the _Sirat Expressway_ 's several hundred meters of traffic jams. This kind of situation was daily reality in the city of Bangkok, but the rider had other things to deal with.

"Have you ever heard about _him_?"

It's been three months since the Hong Kong incident, and she had recovered the use of her leg. But, as promised, she hadn't had time to rest, soon finding herself back into _Janus_ ' office.

"Who's that?"

He was showing her a man's photo; dark haired, tanned, with bony cheeks, arched eyebrows and deep-set brown eyes. Certainly in his mid-twenties, but his hard stare made him look older. No, she definitely didn't know him.

"This is Jonathan Hunter. Former Special Air Service member, then recruited by British Intelligence. He was destined for a brilliant future, since he was on the brink of becoming the youngest agent to achieve the illustrious Double-0 status."

"But?"

"But he was dismissed before getting in."

" _Dismissed_?"

"His last mission had him going rogue… MI6 got terrified by what he became."

The rider smiled while overtaking an old pickup. She remembered the words Janus used to describe the _rogue agent_ : _'over suspicious, brutal, reckless, listening only to himself'_. In the underworld, everybody was more or less the same… she felt a little sympathy for the guy, recognizing a little of her own personality in his.

"The perfect serial killer…", she remembered herself saying with a sarcastic grin.

"He preferred retraining as a hired one."

"Did he have success?"

"He had enough to become a _serious_ rival of yours." (She shrugged, unconvinced.) "Just take a look… or maybe watch your reflection."

 _Jonathan Hunter_ was now looking straight into her eyes. A thin scar bordered his eye that, while brown a moment earlier, turned gold.

Like her, he became a feared killer. Like her, his eye had been replaced by an overpriced bionic prosthetic. The reddish blond man was right, he was _literally_ her double… staring at him made her uncomfortable. Just as if she were watching a skewed version of herself in a broken mirror.

_"Open up the limit…_

_Past the point of no return…_  
_You've reached the top… but still you gotta learn…_  
 _How to keep it…"_

A motorbike suddenly passed hers, at almost one hundred eighty kilometers per hour. Yellow Triumph Daytona. Not just ridden by some _speed demon_ , but chased by three others bikes, all black.

"There is only one man able to build such an _eye_ … and you know him."

" _Aksornpan_?", she asked without belief. "He wouldn't have given him credit as he did for me."

"Who said anything about credit? A wealthy enough employer may have paid in _cash_. I want to know who financed it, and as many details as possible on the device."

She deflected to the left, changed up into sixth gear.

"Why?"

"He's a threat for you. Ultimately, _for me_."

The last black bike was straight ahead. However, as she was still accelerating to catch up with its rider, he realized he was being followed closely.

"So I have to go to Bangkok, meet up with Aksornpan and then _politely_ request that he spill the beans on this Hunter guy?"

She saw the Uzi submachine gun just in time: a second later, the van she had swerved behind got a spray of bullets all along its side.

"Exactly."

As she came back to him, the Uzi holder tried to drive her back into a cab. Helpless.

"Oh, by the way: the _'Hunter guy'_ has a moniker he goes by…"

She dodged the rider's last bullets and came next to him.

" _GoldenEye_."

The rider didn't even have time to parry before a perfectly measured kick unseated him. He landed heavily on the asphalt, his motorbike spinning out to crash into a Hyundai i10. The Korean car flipped, starting a pileup involving more than fifteen vehicles. That part of the Sirat Expressway had become chaos within less than a minute, but the CBR rider had already regained balance and was thrashing her own bike as fast she could to avoid losing the others' trail.

She saw the yellow Daytona taking the junction onto Sukhumvit Road, still chased by the two remaining black bikes. She would not have time to catch them, unless she used a short cut. She gunned her bike, leaping over the road's central barrier and into the contra flow lane. She haphazardly dodged all the vehicles, before cutting up onto the slip lane from Sukhumvit Road. The bikes had just passed in front of her so she came back into the normal flow direction, increasing her speed even more. It was now or never to catch them.

The Daytona rider was struggling with one of the others, avoiding his bullets thanks to seamless drifting. However, that meant there was still someone else to deal with, and she soon came close to the second black bike.

Its rider obviously knew about her presence, as he suddenly deflected to the edge of the elevated highway. So he wanted her to fall off the road… A bullet whistled, confirming the fact she was now a target for termination. Her foe would be tougher than the last one, but she found it was more exciting this way. She failed to unseat him by grabbing his jacket collar, and several bullets glanced off her Honda. Now he had provoked her enough, there was only room for one of them.

They both saw the yellow bike's rider sighting a large caliber Desert Eagle on his nearest adversary and fire a single bullet. The black motorbike wandered for a few moments, before crashing and rolling over the viaduct security fence. _'Definitely not a small player.'_ , she thought.

The last biker immediately lost interest in her, since the Daytona remained his primary target, but she was determined to hang on and finish him. Closely following him she broke to the left, to pull up in line with his bike and the Daytona.

Within seconds, the black bike had been caught between the yellow and the blue one. The young woman made a subtle wave of the hand that the Daytona rider graciously echoed. Then with a predatory smile she flicked open a zirconia edged switch blade. Their foe was spinning the head between each of them, more and more terrified. The ceramic blade suddenly pierced his stomach, while a Desert Eagle bullet crashed into his front tire.

Like the previous two, the bike crashed, while the Daytona and the CBR hurried off to the nearest road exit. They had to fade away as soon as possible to avoid the risk of encountering the Bangkok police forces. They went into the little streets branching off Sukhumvit Road, made a gesture to say good bye to each other, then went their separate ways.

She watched the yellow bike moving away, smiling. She probably wouldn’t encounter the biker again, but she was pleased to have given him a hand. Maybe was it her day's good deed, or simply her way to _unwind_. She rode for another few hundred meters in the web of Bangkok’s alleys, known locally as  _'soi'_ , searching for somewhere she could get anything to eat. Arriving at a lane full of food stalls, she parked up satisfied. Time for lunch.

 _"Push it to the limit…_  
  
_With no one left to stand in your way…_  
 _You might get careless… but you'll never be safe…_  
 _While you still feel it…"_


	4. Chapter 4

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter four >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Chris Cornell, "You Know my Name"_

" _If you take a life…_  
_Do you know what you’ll give?_  
_Odds are you won’t like what it is…"_

Now satiated with a whole plate of _pad Thai_ noodles, she had already left the stall packed soi to get back onto the main reason she was in Bangkok; wresting the name Janus wanted from her most important creditor. It was a fitting occasion for her to get even with the slimy bastard.

Thaksin Aksornpan was a recognized biomaterial technology genius within the underworld. After obtaining his doctorate in biomedical engineering from Bangkok's Mahidol University, he even attended MIT. However, his excessive thirst for money soon drew him back to his native city to sell his bespoke prosthetics on the black market. The business flourished as he was able to charge tens of thousands of dollars for even the simplest of his _products_ and he had clients queuing up for his wares. Partly thanks to the impressive network of contacts he managed to establish and partly by reputation of what was delivered.

She had first met him more than a year and a half ago, a real low point in which she was desperately searching for something that could replace her missing left eye. She contacted him by an email bounced through the Tor network, and shortly afterwards found herself accepting a five hundred thousand dollar debt for the tailor made sphere of biomechanical wizardry fitted into the eye socket… Still, what remained as her main memory of the implantation was the _pain_. The torturous, wrenching _pain_.

While under the general anesthetic, she slept dreamlessly, but once awakened she found out what the word _nightmare_ truly meant. The amount of analgesics she had been given wasn't sufficient to ease her suffering to a manageable level, yet she couldn't just take a hit of sedatives and sleep through the ordeal, Aksornpan needed her awake so he ran regular tests to ensure they were no complications. She expected her brain to give up at a moment’s notice; the agony was not limited to her optic nerves, but also throbbing from the back of her skull, trepanned to allow a microchip implant to be grafted onto her visual cortex.

She felt a cold shiver while vividly remembering the Japanese phrase she had screamed, over and over again, until her voice went hoarse and she was forced to lie in silence; '殺せ!' (Korose!), directly translated as _'Kill me!'_. It had continued for the next few days, until she managed to fall asleep for the first time since the surgery. When she finally awoke, she had a strange feeling, as if something had changed. She understood a moment later, when she saw her reflection in a mirror; she wasn't seeing anymore with only one eye, but with two, like _before_. Her left eye was back, shinning silver as it consumed glucose from her blood to fuel the bioelectric cell. 

Even such a master craftsmanship could not prevent her from hating Aksornpan. On top of the excruciating surgery he had dared to make a pass at her, certainly confident she would not decline the opportunity to partially reduce the debt. He ended up with the nose broken, but later sent her _one of his_ _contact'_ s men by way of thanks, showing her at the same time she had a vested interest in regularly paying her dues.

She parked her CBR in Aksornpan's hideout courtyard, next to a blue, threadbare seated 1970s Suzuki 125 with flaking paint and another motorbike, yellow, which seemed as modern and fiery as the Suzuki was tired and dated. While stashing her jet type helmet, she blinked: she had seen the same model recently. Then she read its fairing's lettering: _'Triumph Daytona 675'_. ' _Strange coincidence'_ , she thought. But the Daytona looked the same as in the bike chase, and had an American license plate: _'Florida – Sunshine State'_. The biker she helped was here for some reason, seemingly business with Aksornpan.

As she walked into the block, on guard, she couldn't help wondering who the guy was. She went on the second floor, sighed when ringing at the familiar door. She was welcomed by a Thai secretary she knew to be Aksornpan's assistant.

"สวัสดีค่ะ" (Sawat di kha, _Hello._ ), the secretary greeted her.

"Afternoon ma'am. I need to see Aksornpan."

"Thaksin is busy at the moment, maybe you could come back la…"

"Or maybe should I wait for him to finish with his patient.” she cut in. "I haven't much time."

"Yes… of course…” the secretary annoyingly muttered. “Please tell me your name?"

" _Kaiko Morikawa_."

The secretary typed something on her computer, before speaking, "Is there a problem with your eye, Miss Morikawa?"

"Kind of.” she lied "It's hurting all around the socket."

The secretary nodded, then allowed her to wait for Aksornpan in the lounge. _'Fine'_. Even _easier_ than what she expected. She turned around and quietly walked away to the lounge, seeing in passing the black dressed man who was obviously staring at her behind his thick Ray-Ban Wayfarers. _'Bodyguard_? _'_ _Some people_ were clearly too big for their boots now…

She soon recognized the room where she waited for the surgery, a little more than one year ago. It had become more refined in that time, as the owner was now prosperous enough to decorate it with designer-signed furniture. She sat on the white leather sofa, watching her surroundings.

It didn't take a long time for her to spot the biker jacket lying on the nearest armchair. Exactly the kind of thing she was looking out for. She examined it but didn't find anything exceptional, only the Daytona rider's black and yellow motocross helmet underneath.

Poor evidence, but there was no longer any doubt as to what the biker was doing in Bangkok. Another of Aksornpan’s clients, or _victims_. What did he buy? Arm, leg? _Eye_? Whatever it was made her shiver, all of these prosthetics were equally risky for their host. In medical experiments, there are always the _failures_ nobody wants to speak about.

The door suddenly opened, but no one came out immediately. She was only able to hear sputters from two different voices. She instantly identified Aksornpan's fluent English, but not the deep tone answering it. Then the two of them finally appeared without noticing her presence.

She held back a gasp when recognizing the man. Athletic, about one meter eighty-five high, wearing a dark Henley shirt with matching pants and military boots. Just like the pictures. Just like Janus' words; _'_ … _or maybe watch your reflection_. _'_

 _"When the storm arrives…_  
_Would you be seen with me?_  
_By the merciless eyes… I’ve deceived…"_

Aksornpan suddenly widened the eyes, seeing his surprise guest. She didn't move, only affecting a display of disdain. It wouldn't be _professional_ to make her anxiety clear; a shark like him would strike at the first sniff of blood.

The latter finally looked at her, and it was even harder for her to stay calm. He stared for a moment, apparently studying her down to the smallest detail, before nodding.

"I didn't know I had a female twin.” he simply observed.                         

Aksornpan's embarrassment was leaking out of his face. He mechanically tried to grin, but the outcome was rather ridiculous. He was as worried as her, perhaps even twice as worried.

"Could _somebody_ introduce us then?"

"Naturally… I can…” Aksornpan managed to articulate. "I was nearly wondering if the two of you would meet some day…"

"So, Aksornpan?” she decided to begin. "Seems you're dead scared to see us in the same room… feeling guilty about something?"

The Thai gazed at her, as if something had just bitten him.

" _Guilty_? Speak for yourself! I know you. Both of you. You may not know _why_ yet, but you'll soon want each other's throat _cut_ … and I don't want it to happen here!"

"Oh. Worried about your business."

 "Of course I am! Anything else?"

" _Sukhumvit Road_.", the guy answered, making both her and Aksornpan raise an eyebrow.

"What the heck are you talking about…?” the Thai asked.

" _She knows_."

The Thai looked at her, slightly shaking his head in misunderstanding. She stood up calmly and moved closer to the man, wanting now to talk to him face to face.

"You're right. I was on Sukhumvit Road."

"Nice bike."

"So is yours."

He extended the hand to her. A vague look of surprise flitted across her face, but then she shook it. She wasn't used to _gratitude_ , yet it made her somewhat _content_. However, since he had clearly gauged her feelings, he added, "Don't be mistaken about that. If Aksornpan speaks true, and if I have to kill you someday, I'd do it without hesitation."

" _Of course_. That's the job's rules."

" _I’ve seen angels fall from blinding heights…_  
_And you yourself are nothing so divine…_  
_Just next in line."_

He moved towards the armchair, put on his jacket.

"Nice to meet you then." he concluded before leaving them.

She stayed still, quiet. Actually, the _GoldenEye_ guy made her a rather positive impression… which wasn't the case for that _sissy_ Aksornpan. _'Once again.'_

"Now we are alone… maybe should you tell me what you are hiding from me, don't you think _Aksornpan_?"

"I… I don't hide…"

"Of course you do, you goddamn wimp! Now tell me; who paid for _his_ eye?”

"I don't know anything …"

A hateful _Yoko Geri_ sidekick threw him on the nearby low glass topped table, the impact forces instantly shattering the designer furnishing. Then another kick pinned him to the shard-littered floor. Though half stunned and cut on all sides, he tried to lift himself up, before suddenly screaming as she pressed his back onto the jagged glass fragments;

"มงกุฏ! มงกุฏ!" (Mongkut! Mongkut!)

" _What the hell_ …?” she began, though she halted the question at the appearance of the bodyguard.

"ไล่มันออกไป!" (Lai man ok pai!), Aksornpan continued ear-splittingly screaming.

Hearing these words, the black-suited man cracked his knuckles with a nasty smile.

"Oh well.” she said.

She turned away from Aksornpan, idly facing the newcomer. He moved closer to her, his face twisted into a wide smile, probably thinking he'd make small work of the _weak_ , _stupid_ girl up. Obviously he had not considered the clinics usual clientele. She denied him the privilege of the first strike, annoyed by the attitude of his sissy boss. Planting her feet she drove her fingers' middle joints straight to his Adam's apple, the _Tokotsu_ pressure point.

She could imagine his eyes bulging wide under his sunglasses. It only took a trice for him to unconsciously slump to the ground, witnessed by a terrified Aksornpan:

"What… What have…?"

She cut off his irritating shaky voice.

"Hey _chill out_ , dumbass! Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to kill him?" He slowly shook the head, even certainly thinking in the opposite way. "He’ll wake up in a few hours with a horrible bruise. Feeling better now?"

She suddenly turned towards the main door, with the intuition that someone stood there. _GoldenEye?_ She saw nobody, but yet was convinced he had seen everything. Not a bad thing, actually. It could have been kind of _warning_ on who she was. She smiled at this thought, crouching in front of the Thai.

"So. Before we start the questioning… what does that _laiman okpai_ you said mean?"

"Kick… _Kick her out_.” he answered with a nervous smile.

"I'm afraid your authority isn't what it once was… don't you agree?" He nodded, swallowing hard "Time to answer my questions, now. Do I need to repeat the first one?"

"Please don't… I… I assure you I don't know who he works for…"

Inevitably, a bash came straight into his face.

"Liar! _Think_ instead of taking me for a half whit!"

"I swear I don't know!" Second bash "I don't… " Third bash "OK… OK!"

"Speak, then."

"He's working for some billionaire… The name's Auric Goldfinger."

"Continue."

"Well, there's not much to be…" He saw her fist slowly raising for another strike. "OK! It's about his eye… It's not like yours at all. I mean… he can do two things you won't be ever able to do with yours."

"What?"

"He's fitted with an electromagnetic module. I don't understand a single thing on how it works, but it allows him to see through walls. And to deflect bullets."

" _What_ … _?!_ "

"I swear I'm not talking rubbish… it's not my territory, the only thing I've done was heavily modifying a regular implant to pair the two up."

"Then whose territory is it?"

He looked down with a deep sigh.

" _Francisco Scaramanga_. Not the creator, but the one who provided me that thing." He paused, perhaps having expected a reaction. "He's a retired assassin. _The_ _Man with the Golden Gun_ , does that tell you something?"

"Not really."

"Never mind. He's _filthy_ rich, as he used to charge a million bucks a shot. And an ally to Goldfinger too."

"You do know a lot about him."

"He provides me some _designs_ from time to time. I have a business to run, remember?"

She nodded, satisfied. Finally he had spilled some _interesting_ information. She nervously tidied her hair, moved to the exit door. Before leaving, she spoke, without turning back:

"By the way, don't worry about this month's payment. You'll have it... so no need to set your attack bitches on me."

 _"Arm yourself  … because no one else here will save you…_  
_The odds will betray you…_  
_And I will replace you…_  
  
_Are you willing to die?"_


	5. Chapter 5

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter five >>>>>_

_ >>>>> The Protomen, "Keep Quiet"_

_"I've seen your face in the shadows…  
I've seen your face in the places I wasn't meant to be…_

_I've heard them whisper about you."_

"So. How did the great two-faced like having a guy able to dodge bullets?"

"You should have seen the reaction on his face. _Priceless_."

Jessi laughed at this answer, sitting her cup of Viennese coffee on the table, to stretch out a fist Kaiko bumped back.

"I don't think I've ever seen him lose his stiff upper lip… I'm proud of you сестричка (sestrichka, _sis_ )!"

"Oh yeah, he definitely _didn't_ expect that one.", the half-Japanese chuckled. "For once he even let me in on a little inside info."

"Well, well, sounds interesting. What was it about?"

"Those things, _magnetic shields_ , or _modules_ , or whatso-goddamn-ever… they're nothing new. Both the Tretyak Corp. and the Syndicate already sell them."

"If so, a single unit must have been enough to convince him weapons just weren't worth the effort.", the blond girl smirked.

"There are so few in circulation that some people surely would give an arm for one, but to afford the manufacturer's selling price _and_ his profit margin put together… the гад (gad) won't give up the weapons that soon."

Jessi had a new smile. That word, 'гад', was part of their personal jargon. Originally one of the many words in Russian slang meaning _bastard_ , it had another meaning that explained why they used it only when referring – in a definitely more offensive way than with simply _two-faced_ – to Janus. _Reptile_. Indeed the man did share many worrying characteristics with _reptiles_ : cold-blooded, sneaky, and even burned enough on the right cheek to have the _look_.

"Point taken. But don't try to fool me, you never gave a damn about his _profit margins_ ", her friend gave her a look but remained silent so she continued "What's the big deal, eh?"

"You know, one of those modules… would be about _that_ wide.", her Asian friend explained by briefly spacing her hands approximately five centimeters apart.

"Oh, I get it. It has been shrunk down to fit a certain _eye_ , hasn't it?"

"Exactly."

"Tell me, what did you learn about that Mr.… _Goldfinger_?", Jessi suddenly asked.

"Not so much. Some billionaire specializing in metal ore mining and smelting, former ally to Dr. No, but now he’d prefer the Doctor’s head on a spike. Apparently powerful enough to threaten the Syndicate's business. Why the question?"

"Because honestly, the fact he's confident enough in his brand new recruit to have paid cash for that thing is a bit much for me."

Kaiko raised her eyebrows in agreement, taking a slow sip of her coffee.

"Perhaps he has wealth to waste. What's a bit much for me would rather be that this GoldenEye guy also has _x-ray vision_. As though his implant wasn't overpowered enough."

 **"** If I may say… for an eye able to generate a magnetic shield, seeing through walls nearly sounds like _basic equipment_. What do you think?"

The half-Asian rolled the eyes, sinking into her chair. What kind of foe GoldenEye was? With gear like that, anyone would have trampled on her. Anyone, but _him_. While thinking, she noticed Jessi was looking at her, waiting to get a word edgewise.

"Go on.", she said without waiting for the question.

"Between you and me… How is _he_?", Jessi asked with a glance of complicity.

" _Who_?"

"Guess."

"I've just said _go on_ , miss Genius."

The asker had a slight laughter, while her interlocutor shrugged the shoulders.

"OK then. If that's what you want, let's be explicit: how is the man named _Jonathan Hunter_? Got it, now?"

"Это очень глупый вопрос."(Eto ochen' glupyy vopros., _This is a very stupid question_.)

" _На глупый вопрос – шальной ответ_. Ну так соответственно ответь мне."( _Na glupyy vopros – shal'noy otvet_. Nu tak sootvetstvenno otvet' mne., _To a stupid question, silly answer. So answer me accordingly._ ), the blond girl responded in the same ironic tone.

"Well, he's… how would I say…" (Her voice turned even more sarcastic.) "Oh yes, of course; goddamned _crazy_."

Jessi raised her eyebrows, obviously thinking her words were ironic. But Kaiko shook her head to make it understood they weren't.

"Oh really?", the blond girl asked. "You risk your life helping a _man_ getting rid of three bikers and you say he’s _crazy_ , no attraction _at all_? You're pulling my leg, сестричка."

"Well unlike him, I couldn't see _through_ the helmet."

"Yeah, I guess..."

"Believe what you want, I don't care. Why the hell would I hit on a guy up to _clip_ me, huh?"

"I don't know... that's your problem, actually." (Jessi looked at her watch) "Вот дерьмо. " (Vot der'mo., _Oh crap_.)

"What's the matter?"

"Appointment with the two-faced… and I’m already late.", she answered with a scowl. "Any wise words?"

"Чёрт с гадом." (Chort s gadom., _To hell with the гад_.)

"Ага (Aha), still I don't think that's the best way to gain his favor… is it?"

"Just keep it deeply hidden in your mind, then."

"Yeah, I'll try... See you tonight, _lady Morikawa_."

The latter allowed a gentle smile to creep into her lips.

"See you tonight, _lady Pajari_."

_"I've heard the men in the bars…  
And I've seen the women lock their doors at night."_

Jessi paid the bill, then rapidly left the coffeehouse. Her friend stretched, thinking about what she could do until the evening. She had decided to go read a book in the Hermitage park when she felt someone tapping on her shoulder. She turned over, eventually finding out a child-sized Asian man was holding out a piece of paper.

"Message for you, _mademoiselle_.", he said with a thick French accent.

She silently took the folded paper, suspicious. She read:

 _Meet me at the old Rail Weapons Depot by 5 PM_.

Under the hand-written English sentence, a signature. ' _Francisco Scaramanga'_. The one Aksornpan spoke about. She turned her eyes towards the little man, but it was of no help. He had already vanished, leading her to think all of this was total nonsense. How would _they_ know she was here? And why would _they_ send someone as important as Scaramanga to meet her? It sounded like the plot of a bad spy movie, but she might as well go to the meeting point. She'd see what she'd do once in there, if they could track her so subtly there was little point avoiding the encounter.

The taxi took her directly to her destination, so that she could scout out the area before the rendezvous, something they would undoubtedly have done already. Opening the depot entrance gate, she wondered why they chose to meet here. As she walked along the path to the warehouse she looked around, habitually checking the lines of site and fastest exits.

The place had been out of use for many years, slowly decaying while awaiting demolition or refurbishment. Oddly there were still rolling stock around, but it was not classic freight trains. Dark and heavily armored, with the red star and 'СССР' lettering still visible on several cars; Soviet missile trains, put into service in the late 1980s. Cold War rolling wreckage.

Seeing that, she slackened the pace, more and more puzzled. She finally found the depot warehouse, with its metal shutter half raised. The writing on the brick wall was mostly obliterated, but she guessed it was something like this: 'ДЕПО №27 ПОГРУЗКА РАКЕТ' (Depo Nomer dvadtsat' sem' Pogruzka Raket). If she was correct; 'Missile Handling Depot No.27'. She silently stepped in, looking around. The place was dark, cold and musty, and the electric switch she had found was dead.

"You are ahead of schedule, Miss Morikawa."

She started, as she hadn't heard him coming, and turned back to the platform. A graying tall man, luxuriously dressed in a white linen suit. She walked towards him and shook his hand, before speaking;

"So are you."

"I had nothing else to do before leaving St Petersburg. Come and see."

He turned on a flashlight, allowing her to see inside the hangar. It was apparently a repair station, as another train's uncoupled cars were here, along with the remains of a DM62 diesel locomotive. The top had suffered severe fire damage as it was charred and pockmarked with soot all around the holes. It also looked like it had hit something very solid, the front end was crumpled and there was no front bogie, only a buckled chassis.

"What happened to that train?", she asked with concern.

"I figured you would know… being one of Janus' operatives. But I can understand your leader doesn't want to speak about the darkest part of his past."

"What does this have to do with Janus?"

"This train was his very first operating base, once allowing him to travel undetected through Russia."

"Seems it went wrong.", she nodded toward the destroyed engine.

"Some people speak about a _clash_ between Janus Syndicate and British intelligence."

"Oh. The basic _routine_ then.", she smirked. "But now I am in the Syndicate's Holy of the Holies, may I ask _why_? What do you gain from showing me this?"

"I've been watching you for some time."

"Really?"

"Since your first email to Aksornpan, actually."

"But you preferred not to make an appearance?"

"Until your recent meeting with GoldenEye."

She looked at him, defiantly.

"Who did spoke first, between him and Aksornpan?"

"Aksornpan didn't, but I'm sure I don’t have to explain _why_."

" _Poor dear_. Send him my best wishes for a _prompt recovery_ …", she said, ignoring his severe look. "So tell me; how much poison did GoldenEye spit on me? I'd be most interested to know."

"I'll make it clear; he has nothing against you, at least for the moment. But watch your step very carefully. Goldfinger already knows who you are, and he doesn't particularly appreciate that you're working for a _close_ ally of Dr. No. One offensive move would provide him the perfect excuse to have you gunned down."

She stepped back, more and more distrustful. What was to understand in this last line? There was no point in exposing what Goldfinger planned for her.

"And then...?"

"Maybe you should think about an _exit strategy_."

So _this_ was the one reason of the meeting… An offer to join Goldfinger. She smirked again, thinking that it was actually not a bad thing. Still he had interest in having _powerful_ arguments for that.

"You have an incredible nerve to expect me to turn my back on Janus like that."

"Just exercise your _freedom of choice_." (He accompanied his words by slightly lifting the hands) "Either you content yourself with enduring Janus' clutches, or you prefer to prevent yourself of being in the wrong place at the wrong time against your will."

"What's in it for me, anyway?"

"You know, when _Jonathan_ told me about your meeting, he named you in an interesting way… that is rather telling of what he thinks of you."

"Please continue."

"He used the name _SilverEye_. Draw your own conclusions."

She fell silent, quite confused. _SilverEye_? Was he serious? They didn't even _know_ each other and they had already given her a new code name! That also begged the question, how much trust could she place in Scaramanga and GoldenEye? The choice was far too critical to be rushed through, she needed time.

_"They say your eyes are on fire…  
They say you'd kill a man for walking the wrong side of the line…"_

Changing sides was seducing, as it would permit her to wipe away the hundred grand she owed Janus, maybe even to get rid of him once and for all, but the risk was too great. She had still in mind Mesyats' sad fate. Former Russian Spetsnaz, he served the two-faced for two years, until wanting to make more money, so he went freelance. Criminal warlords hate losing control of their operatives; Janus first offered to make him a minor associate of his organization, to prevent any possibility of vital information leaking. But Mesyats refused. Not _'lucrative'_ enough, according to him. _Fatal_ error.

In her case, it's been four years since she had learnt who Janus really was. She always preferred not to think about what _exactly_ had happened, and she had told Jessi to never tell anyone, even her, about that. The one thing she wanted the гад to die for. However, it had made her understand one thing; as merciless as he was, nothing could prevent him from getting what he wanted. Otherwise she wouldn't have accepted everything he imposed on her so far.

"Take time to think about this discussion before you make your decision. Just remember that none of your available choices will make you safer than the other. It will only be a matter of controlling your life or having your life controlled. And don't tell me you don't understand, we both know you’re smarter than that.”

_"But men, they say a lot of foolish things  
And in the end the only words I can find to believe in are mine."_

She wanted to ask a question, but she found the answer before opening the mouth. Aksornpan _knew_ she hated Janus. Easy; he only had to hear the words she used when speaking about her employer. _So of course_ the wimp would have unloaded everything to his friend Scaramanga. Fortunately, neither of them could understand why.

"I have one last question.", she stated.

"Go ahead."

"When did the crash happen?"

"Maybe more than five years ago, if I recall correctly. Why the sudden interest?"

She shrugged her shoulders. A noncommittal acceptance of the question. It wasn't everyday she could enjoy some setback the two-faced suffered. It struck her that Scaramanga had timed his offer perfectly, after so much time wanting her revenge on Janus she now actively looked forwards to his downfall. Scaramanga's offer of help, a way out, was just what she needed. The challenge however, remained, as she still had to engineer an opportunity to escape. Like he said, _'exit strategy'._

She stood still as he walked away. She waited a moment to ensure that he was long gone before she decided to get into one of the cars. Having found a working wind-up flashlight to guide her she was a little disappointed that there wasn't anything left inside. Still, she got that the gaping opening in the floor wasn't there by chance. The train had evidently been equipped with a Janus’ signature security system, a bomb. The well-established _burning land policy_ … destroying everything while fleeing.

_"They say…_

_This city… she's been dead… for years now... for years now._  
_So death is… not something… that scares me... that scares me._  
_There's worse things… than death_ _here."_


	6. Chapter 6

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter six >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Tommy Shaw, "Dangerous Game"_

_"_ _You do just what you want to do…  
I see the way they look at you…_

_It always comes easy…"_

Too slow, too fast… anxious as she was, she couldn't decide what she thought of the elevator speed. The overwhelming feeling was all too bad; Janus should never have asked her to come back so soon. Something was going wrong, and she hoped it wouldn’t be linked back to her. She kept moving her hands in her pockets while waiting, desperately wanting to think about something else.

How could she be in such a state? It wasn't her first time being called by the two-faced, without explication or context; still she was worried as hell knocking on his secretary's office door. No, he couldn't be aware of anything. No, she hadn't told Scaramanga anything compromising, and yet she was waiting here thinking in gibberish.

An instant later, she was taking a seat in front of the reddish blond man. She couldn't help evading his glance, but less because of her apprehension than because of what she felt in his eyes. He had a lustful look she always hated, as though she were a piece of meat, an object, nothing but a pawn. Some would have said he was just completely at ease with his reputation of being a womanizer, but however humiliating it was to be ogled in such a way there was more to the look than that. He was toying with her, obviously in a mood to play with her nerves.

"How are you my dear?"

The rhetorical question, as always. Her whole being was answering it; shifty eyes, uncomfortably seated, tense. He wasn't blind. He was enjoying the power he had over her… relishing in the memories he knew her mind must be replaying. She shoved her hands into her pockets, as if the fabric would protect her skin from his burning stare. Though it was too awkward and she pulled them free again, their uneasy placement on her lap accompanied by a short jingling sound.

She looked down, spotting the cupronickel coin that had slipped from her pocket, which had landed so that she could see the Russian two-headed eagle. She rapidly took it back, without a word.

"What is it?", he asked.

She stopped short from putting it away, opening her hand

"Twenty rubles."

"May I see?"

She reluctantly stretched out the hand to let him take it.

"50 лет Великой Победы (Pyatdesyat let Velikoy Pobedy)", he read. " _Fiftieth anniversary of the Great Victory_ , 1995. How come you have one of these?"

"I found it someday."

"What's the point of carrying an unusable coin with you?", he asked with a grin.

"Just some kind of… _charm_."

"I didn't know you believed in this kind of nonsense…" He threw it back. "…but you should keep it safe. You won't find another like it."

 _'If you only knew, you goddamned гад.'_ , she thought for herself. The coin wasn't in her pocket by chance, but because of its symbolic use; she called it her ' _two-face indicator'_. When tossing it; heads, with the commemorative inscription, meant she had nothing to fear. But if it ever landed showing the two-headed eagle, then it meant that the very man she was talking to was preparing his next rotten trick. Exactly like he was _now_.

"There's a question causing me a bit of a headache…", he started. "Would you mind answering it?" She gave a slight affirmative nod. "Has it occurred to you to join forces with GoldenEye?"

She swallowed, her little remaining confidence shattered. Her intuition was sadly right, he was already _aware_.

"I don't know him well enough for me to have even considered it."

"Really?" His eyes shone terribly. "I'm afraid you'll have to quickly form a clear opinion, since I'm sending you to kill him."

"Well… fine. _I'll_ clip him.", she agreed without emotion.

"Even as _SilverEye_?"

She had great difficulty staying absolutely still. He was evidently testing her. By making it known that her little chat with Scaramanga had been overheard, he expected her to say something silly. Doing so was strictly off the cards, since the choice she still had to make would provide her the opportunity to pull away from his claws.

By having her take GoldenEye out he was forcing her to prove her loyalty. She was agreeing with him for now, unsure how much he believed her; but agreeing was the only way to avoid the same fate as Mesyats’. She remembered the bombed train car and her own experiences with Janus’ wrath, he would remove her if it suited him to do so. Which probably was the message Scaramanga was trying impart by meeting in the depot, she was expendable to Janus.

"Even as SilverEye. I didn't choose the name." 

"Wisest decision. You have everything to gain from it. Wouldn’t it be gratifying to get rid of the only man likely to overshadow you?" She shrugged the shoulders. "Or maybe having the recent debt you owe me wiped?"

Already speaking about money he could get from her. The only thing that scum ever liked her for.

"I'd want that one wiped for sure.", she stated.

"You know what you have to do."

"Brief me then."

Saying such a line was backing herself into a corner, but she hadn't any alternative since she wanted to sit on the fence as long as possible. As for his eyes… she really couldn't stand them. She placated herself by imagining tearing them from their sockets. She knew it was his little game, meant to remind her why she feared him so much. But as usual, it was better to keep her mouth shut instead of getting into deeper water. Vengeance had to wait until she was in a less precarious position.

 _"_ _You never have to try too much…  
You think you got the magic touch…_

_You really believe it… "_

"For once we speak the same language… Good girl." He gave a satisfied grin. "How about a little trip to Las Vegas?"

"Sounds _interesting_."

"Then why do you look so glum? I am not going to put you to _death_ , if that's what you fear."

"I know."

She stopped short of continuing. The _death_ he reminded her of was implicitly referring to Mesyats', the most recent illustration of the power he held over his executives. Yet, was death really that bad compared to manipulation at the hands of somebody who was so clearly delighted by her fickle resistance? The longer the meeting continued, the more she convinced herself that she had to escape. Whether joining GoldenEye or not, she needed to get out before the гад finally managed to break her.

"Never mind.", he said. "Your flight leaves tonight. You'll have a suite booked at the Midas Grand. Goldfinger's casino, for your information."

"Which probably means GoldenEye will be in the vicinity."

" _Precisely_. Paranoid as he seems to be, you'll have to play it _shrewdly_."

She frowned. What exactly was he _implying_?

"Being based so close to him isn't exactly what I'd consider the _shrewdest_ course of action."

"He would have known about your arrival in Las Vegas, anyway. His employer has eyes everywhere around the casino." An odious, warped smile appeared on his face "But if you're good enough, being oh _so close_ should allow you to rapidly rise his interests."

She squinted, now plainly grasping his train of thought.

"Good enough… _on the pillow_?"

"Where else? He's a man, and you're a woman… The world's oldest trick."

She had a nervous grin, trying to pay only little attention on how he just insulted her. ' _Temper, just temper…',_ she repeated like a mantra to herself. He knew that kind of remark was the easiest way to drive her mad, but why was he doing so? Was this all intentional? It seemed odd to her, but she kept her thoughts internalized.

" _Go to hell_."

"I expected more… Fine, but remember; either he dies and you survive, or he survives and you die. There's not room for _two_ of you." She nodded slowly. "Now go, and choose your next move very carefully."

_"You always have to have control…  
You never get emotional…_

_Do you really believe it…?_ _"_

Hours later, as she was sitting on her sofa Jessi curled up slightly, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I don't understand what he's intending to do… there was no point in getting on your nerves like that. Did he at least give you some valid reason to clip GoldenEye?"

"No, of course not. That goddamned scumbag only wants me to _wiggle_ my hips for him."

 The blond girl nodded to agree with such bitterness, before raising a hand and turning her head to sneeze.

"Excuse me." She made a slight pause before going on; "Ах (ach), the гад has still not got it. Yet I'm sure that's not the main reason why he's sending you in there."

"Hey, I'm not a _half-wit._ The two-faced sending me as far as Las Vegas to kill somebody I've just been asked by Scaramanga to team with… there must be something bigger behind that. I'd even bet it's involving _all_ the fat cats; Dr No, Goldfinger, GoldenEye, Scaramanga, Janus… along with everybody we don't even know yet."

"And you're right on the front line."

Kaiko sighed deeply, walking around to calm down.

" _I know._ I’m the _pawn_ for these players' board, and too afraid to die to even get a move on. I’m afraid of staying, I’m afraid of what will happen if I leave…" She glanced at Jessi, "Something to say?"

"Sit down, you're stressing me out." She glanced back at the half-Asian. " _Пожалуйста_." ( _Pozhalusta_., _Please_.)

She topped her pacing and did so, understanding in such a stern tone that she had had that nervous tic again – fiddling with her left wrist. It wasn't time at all to wake the old _ghosts_ of the past.

"The two-face indicator spoke for itself, you know."

 " _His_ look had to be real warped, to make you flip it..."

"I didn't flip it, it slipped to the ground. But his look was _torture_ , I won’t deny that."

"No kidding..." Jessi watched Kaiko shake her head in dismay, then added; "So? _Eagle_ or _victory_?"

" _Eagle_."

"Ой, чёртова неудача." (Oy, chortova neudacha., _Oh, damned bad luck_.)

The half-Asian shrugged her shoulders. The real bad luck was less the coin, more the man.

"Do you think I should take a chance on GoldenEye?", she asked Jessi while resting her head on her hand.

"To get out of the синдикат?"

"Yeah."

Silence followed, as the blond girl was certainly thinking deeply to give an answer. Kaiko thus stretched out the legs, to slouch a little more comfortably on the sofa.

"I personally don't know him enough to judge. All I guess is that the two-faced will get properly merciless if you do so."

"Like he isn't _already_."

"At least you're still alive."

"Yeah, _still alive_... Measly _compensation_ that is."

Jessi lowered the head for a moment, before saying:

"As long as we won't know anything about what's afoot, we won't be able of anything. Just do as you think... to a _reasonable_ extent of course."

"Don't worry.", Kaiko said, shrugging again. "If I manage to get out, I'll do everything possible to get you out too. And then that гад will pay, believe me."

 _"_ _Baby you think you're so clever…  
Acting this way…_

_You know this can't go on forever…  
Someday you'll pay…"_


	7. Chapter 7

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter seven >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Justice, "New Lands"_

_"You…_

_So you're running in a best of three…_  
_And you're gunning on the kingside…_  
 _For the queen…"_

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Las Vegas McCarran International Airport. Local time is 9:40 AM, weather is sunny, and the temperature is 83 degrees Fahrenheit that is about 28 degrees centigrade. We'll be taxiing to the gate for the next few minutes before docking at gate 1-D, so please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign. On behalf of this New York based flight crew and Delta Airlines, thank you for choosing to fly with us today and we hope to see you again on a future flight. We sincerely wish you to enjoy your stay here."

A moment later, she took back her backpack at the baggage carousel, looking around her… _Las Vegas_. At last. As a teen she had dreamt of the place, and finally here she was. Even though she hadn't recovered from the exhaustion of a two stop flight, and even though the _circumstances_ weren't the best she could wish for, she couldn't help keeping an almost _childish_ smile on her face. _'Not professional at all'_ , a half of her mind was whispering. _'Who cares?'_ , the other snapped back.

As she stepped out of the airport, she was surprised by the sudden transition from air conditioning to the dry, burning desert breath. Fortunately there was a ready supply of taxis around, so she didn't have to wait for too long before handing over her bag to a lightly sweating driver, then taking a seat in a cooled leather interior.

The taxi ride was unsurprisingly a short one and she was soon walking into the entrance lobby of the casino. All she managed to clearly see was finest white marble, along with carved precious woods, red carpets, fountains, statues… and a huge crystal chandelier. Capitalization on Italian elegance, actually, although the name ' _Midas'_ was rather from Greek mythology.

She chuckled at the irony a casino being named after Midas, possibly the most famous story warning against greed. Midas, king of Phrygia, prayed for the ability to turn anything he touched to gold. The God Dionysus granted his wish knowing it was truly a curse. King Midas was initially overjoyed with the power; however the feast he ordered turned inedible at his touch, and when he touched his daughter she turned into a gilt statue. Beseeching his own greed, he thus begged Dionysus to lift the curse. Realizing that the lesson had been learned, the god took pity on the king and instructed him to wash his hands and daughter in the Pactolus river. The _'Midas touch'_ lifted and his daughter was revived, while the gold flaked off blessing the river with gold-bearing sands.

Goldfinger certainly had here an excellent marketing strategy; Midas was associated first and foremost with gold and greed second, the average gambler would swim straight towards the sharks jaws. Even if it'd be forgetting that the Midas remained a casino; every effort was made to bring the _jackpot_ right into the director's hands, not into the ones of the vulgar crowd.

She had a slight smile thinking about that, while making her way to the reception to book in and get her suite's access card. A few minutes later, she was waiting for the central elevator to take her up to her floor. She noticed a smiling blond woman next to her, who didn't need any more invitation to approach.

"You seem totally amazed… first time in Vegas?"

"Yeah.", she evasively answered.

"Where are you from?"

" _Japan_."

She stopped short of biting her lip; she was always putting bitterness into the place name, which was likely to tell more about her past than she wanted… and yet exhaustion just let it slip. Fortunately, the woman didn't notice her inner discomfort, as she invited her with a hand gesture to enter the elevator that just arrived.

"Oh really? That's a beautiful country."

She looked at the blond woman. Of course she would continue on that topic: _'Oh, and which city are you from? _Kyōto_? Isn't that the former imperial capital? Very beautiful I must admit… I wish I had got there someday…' _ etc, etc. _No way_. She'd never tell a stranger anything about such a _painful_ subject.

"And you, where are you from?"

"Do you know the City of Angels?" She nodded. "That's the place."

"It has some beautiful surroundings too."

"Hasn't it?"

The elevator's glass doors opened for the twenty-eighth floor.

"I'm sure we'll meet again.", the woman concluded.

"I don't doubt it.", she answered just before exiting the cabin.                                                                           

She passed through a long corridor with white plaster walls, marble floor and gilded graven corners, thinking more about all that luxury than about the uninteresting _gossip_ she had just spoke to. Such a shame she wouldn't simply make the most of her stay like a normal person… she certainly would never get in here again.

She found her door and entered the suite, glad to finally be able sleep as long as she'd want to, without being disturbed. She had soon the feeling there was some kind of _providence_ , as all the curtains were already shut, keeping the morning sunlight out of the cozy setting. She hardly thought so that she heard a metallic noise. Very _distinctive_ one. _Pistol safety removal_.

_"New lands…  
Trust embedded on the sand…_

_New lands…  
Trust in us embedded on the sand…" _

She swept the room until spotting the silhouette that was quietly sitting on an armchair, in front of the curtained bay window, the right arm extended by a long, large caliber gun that chased her head. In a single wave, the left one commanded her to sit on the bed spreading on its side. She prudently did so, not willing to be shot prematurely by some .50 Action Express bullet.

"Do you realize you are in _a_ _woman's room_?", she asked in a soft, sarcastic-toned voice.

The deep one she'd heard back in Bangkok preferred being more direct:

"Ain't it because you're a _woman_ that Janus sends you getting under my feet?"

"So that's how you see it, huh? My body's the bait, and your life's the prey…" She sighed seeing his nod. "Damn… you men are pathetic. I've got better to do than fulfilling your dreams. Either Janus' or yours."

"Then why did you come here?"

"Just… keeping up the appearances."

She saw him standing up and casually getting closer to her, still holding what she now knew to be a chrome-plated Desert Eagle. She stayed unmoving, soon having the unpleasant feeling of the cold metal barrel pressed on her cheek, harshly enough to make her tilt the head aside. Yet a little voice was whispering to her he wouldn't pull the trigger. He didn't want to do anything but scare her.

"And I thought Scaramanga would mention our little talk. I was horribly wrong, don't you think?"

"We look the same. We ain't on the same side. Whatever Scaramanga thinks about you, I'll leave it at that."

She closed her eyes without any feeling, or perhaps with abnormal _peacefulness_ , making the situation quite surrealistic.

"If I have to be the one to be brought down, I'd point out that the perfect tool is in your hand."

The barrel slowly slid to her silver-hued prosthetic's corner.

"Resolving our problem would be as simple as applying pressure to the little handle you have under your finger and letting my head fly into pieces. So quick and easy that I wouldn't even suffer from it. Why don't you go ahead?"

He relieved the pressure on her eye's corner, and the gun disappeared into the shoulder holster she guessed he had under his jacket.

"If you really want to team up, meet me tonight at the Sky Lounge. 7 PM at the latest."

"I'll be there."

The only answer she heard was the noise of the door he closed behind him. Finally she was alone. She fell flat on her back, eyes shut. The altercation had ended without resorting to more than threats and a test of nerves, quite reassuring. Now the initial contact was made, all she had to do was work out how to evade the two faced, _simple_. At least GoldenEye inspired her some confidence, he certainly didn't seem to be as Janus-like and sneaky when conducting business. Could she hope him to be the _support_ she never had?

_"You…_

_So you're running in a best of three…_  
_And you're gunning for it all…_  
 _May the king fall."_


	8. Chapter 8

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter eight >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Russ Ballard, "Voices"_

_"If you could see my mind…  
If you really look deep, then maybe you'll find…_

_That somewhere there will be a place…  
Hidden behind my comedian face."_

She slowly opened the eyes, taking some time to remember where she was. _Oh yes;_ Midas Grand, Sin City. In her mind, her arrival was only a muddled shadow, of which barely nothing else than the Desert Eagle's barrel pressing on her cheek was highlighted. However her stomach was rumbling terribly, so she checked her wristwatch; _'2:54 PM'_. A five-hour nap explained why her hunger was so pressing, leading her to go charge her _batteries_ as quickly as possible.

She came back to the casino about one hour later, deciding to try her hand at the black jack tables just to waste time.  She eventually finished with a little bit more than she started with, but she had verified that the legend was true; the lack of clocks or windows in Vegas made it incredibly hard for gamblers to keep time, doubtless an intentional design feature. At least she had been able to step down into the crowd and pretend to be a normal tourist for a few hours of her life. Not so bad.

Moving to the reception, she asked directions to the _Sky Lounge_. She was soon informed that it was the last floor's VIP lounge, requiring some invitation card. ' _Of course I have.'_ Perhaps it wasn't totally false to say so… it wasn't just _anybody_ inviting her. She took the elevator, being the only one to stay in it until the fortieth floor.

She came out at a circular room, in which she stayed for some minutes. It was arranged as a miniature indoor garden, with subtle lighting. It had a white marble fountain at its core, encircled by Mediterranean plants and flowers. Behind it, as if welcoming her in, there was a marble statue of some Greco-Roman goddess, and two ways opened at the sides, all surrounded by potted saplings. As she observed her surroundings she recognized the fragrance of lemon trees, reminiscent of a journey in the South of France she went on as a kid.

She could have happily stayed here for hours as it was far from the lower floors' _commotion_ , yet she sighed deeply. It wasn't time at all to get _emotional_. She eventually took the left path, following the sign indicating her destination.

Two security guards were stationed on either side of the lounge's entrance. Some people were here, chatting while sitting on beige leather armchairs. She continued stepping forward, hoping to be admitted without some piece of _thick paper_.

"Good evening Madam. May I see your invitation card?"

 _'Crap.'_ Exactly when she thought so. While rapidly thinking about something to say, someone stood up and put their arm around her shoulder.

"Don't worry about the invitation card. She's my _guest_."

The guard nodded, with some _respect_ , then invited them to go in.

"Have a nice time here, madam."

"Thank you." she just had time to answer, as she was lead inside by her new host.

She turned her head towards the woman leading her, certain she had already heard the feminine voice. She eventually recognized the insipid blond woman who spoke to her in the morning. So she was some kind of _VIP_ … influential enough to be allowed to bring anybody here.

"I told you we would meet again.", the host stated.

"Who are you?" Kaiko asked, frowning slightly.

"My name is Kathrin Blackman… I believe you're the one Scaramanga called _Kaiko Morikawa_ and Jon called _SilverEye_ … "

"I believe Scaramanga is an _offensive windbag_."

"I assure you he wouldn't have revealed your name if he had even a minimal _mistrust_ in me. So that's your real one, right?"

"Yeah, so what? Are you gonna shout it from the rooftops?"

"No, certainly not."

" _Fine_ …", she couldn't help muttering.

When talking with Kathrin she hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings. Now that she was watching around, she found it was indeed one of the most luxurious places she had been in. There were a lot of small cues interspersed in the room, the plush cleanliness, a bar in the top corner serving spirits that cost an average American’s weekly wage. A few steps lead to its mid-level, furnished with the same armchairs she'd seen at the entrance, low exotic wooden tables, a pool game, and some master paintings on the walls, collectors’ items for sure if she recognized the signatures correctly. But the central piece, was a _'_ _Bösendorfer'_ grand piano placed on a raised stage. Worth a _fortune,_ the kind of item where if you had to ask the price you couldn’t afford it.

Finally, the lower level was also the narrowest, only devoted to people who wanted to sit or stand near the impressively large bay window that revealed Sin City's whole skyline… _Sky_ Lounge. Well-named, again. Close to _sky_ as well as some peoples' _heavens_.

" _Champagne_?"

She suddenly turned the head towards the blond woman, who was already offering her a flute.

"Well… yes, thank you.", she answered while taking it. "So… where is he?"

" _Jon_?" She nodded. "Down there, near the bay. See?"

"Oh… indeed.", she observed while having a sip.

"Before you go.", Kathrin held her back. "Are you sure of what you are doing?"

"Why such a question?"

"You should be.", she mysteriously stated. "Good luck for tonight, _SilverEye_."

_"In my head the voice is waiting, waiting for me to set it free…  
I locked it inside my imagination… but I'm the one who's got the combination…_

_Some people didn't like what the voice did say…_  
_So I took the voice and I locked it away…_  
_I got the key. I got the key."_

He was looking out the bay, a whiskey _on the rocks_ in hand. She noticed he still had his gun under his jacket, also wearing the same military boots he had in Bangkok. As if was waiting for some _incursion_.  Up to that point, she didn't know nor understand anything. Why did Scaramanga encouraged her defection, why did Janus try so hard to make her _flip out_ and why they were all without exception ensuring she was on their side. What the heck was wrong with them? 

Even before she asked, he showed her to her seat, right in front of him. ' _Man of few words'_. Definitely. She quietly sat, waiting for him to turn to her. Then said, looking straight into his eyes;

"Now I'm sitting at your table… it’s all up to you."

He had a slight sigh, swallowing some of his drink.

"Tell me about Xenia Onatopp."

"You mean… _Xenia Sergeevna Onatopp_?"

"Cut the Russian junk. Go ahead."

She raised both eyebrows at that sudden _bossy_ tone he had, but she didn't make any comment. She didn't know him well enough to get on his bad side so soon; and then she wanted _answers_ … she'd rather tell him what he wanted while trying to figure him out, as difficult as it sounded to be.

"She is a former South Ossetian fighter pilot who joined Russian airforce back in 2008, during the Russo-Georgian war over the independence of her homeland. Apparently Janus recruited her after the Russian victory… no one knows the exact reasons why, but I'm pretty sure he promised her something like power and money. Otherwise, as long as I've known her she wouldn't have always been the right-hand woman."

"You sound bitter.", he stated, which seemed much of an understatement to her.

"Believe me when I say that there is stiff competition to be among the top ten people I hate." She smirked.

"Anything else?"

"I don’t know if you’re aware of her _unique methods_ …" He looked at her questioningly. "Well... You could say that she likes to give her victims _a taste_ of her before they go. A little bit of erotic asphyxiation between her thighs, a little boy like you would give her the _upmost pleasure_."

She had finished with the most bitingly sarcastic tone she could muster… not that she supported the infamous Ossetian spider's methods, but she had perceived a brief, quickly controlled shine of uneasiness in his eyes. Sure it wasn't the kind of slip to feel confident about… yet she was smiling at having spied a little of his personality… ' _Welcome to the party pal.'_ , she thought.

"I've got some bad news.", he said, slightly shaking the ice in his glass.

"Which is…?"

"A bunch of Dr. No's men are about to attack this place. And your _Onatopp_ is in command."

She turned her head, exasperatedly shutting her eyes. _'What a_ _moron you are.',_ she harshly thought to herself. She had just been told ' _Good luck for tonight, SilverEye.'_ ; what was she expecting? _Everybody_ but her knew what would happen that evening. However, thanks to GoldenEye's last line, everything was finally being cleared up.

Two sides; No and Janus on one, Goldfinger and Scaramanga on the other. The first two had necessarily agreements on sharing strengths, as she went to Hong Kong and as Onatopp was in command of No's men. In response, the other two hired GoldenEye and prepared him to be their chief enforcer, giving him enhanced Aksornpan's technology.

They obviously had achieved their aim, otherwise Janus wouldn't have considered GoldenEye as a threat, sending her to know more about his equipment, then to kill him. But Scaramanga – and certainly Goldfinger – anticipated, offering her to change sides and ultimately settle the score with the two-faced, which would equally gratify both her new _allies_ and herself.

Yet Janus' plan had been more artfully conceived than she thought, now she could bitterly acknowledge it; by sending her to eliminate GoldenEye, he wanted her to support Onatopp, the latter being in the best position to verify she had completed her mission. He had always known what he was doing, even in going as far as _inciting_ her to escape. She had only been his puppet, and perhaps he had even envisaged to use her as a _mole_ inside Goldfinger's organization. Against her will, _naturally_. 

"Why?", she thought aloud.

" _Why_ …?", he repeated without understanding.

"Why are you all struggling against each other? What's the point of having _me_ on your side?" She sighed, finishing her remaining champagne. "I guess none of you will answer that, right? To you… I'm _insignificant_."

His only answer was nodding to indicate something next to them. She looked in the same direction, suddenly freezing as the reality struck her.

" _Of course you are_. My compliments for having finally understood."

 

_"Voices… I hear voices…  
 Voices… I hear voices…"_

The Caucasian-accented voice that spoke belonged to a tall, dark-haired woman, who was also shoving Kathrin to their table. The blond woman awkwardly glanced at her, as thinking about how such an _attacker_ could have entered here… and the half-Asian had already a similar expression on her face.

"So, _little one_? No comment? No… _wisecrack_?"

"I think you’re familiar enough to know what they would be anyway."

"Finally you're up to the mark. I knew you were brilliant at asking questions earlier on. Even more brilliant than your talent for _complying_ with missions." The woman looked at her with a fierce smile, as if having suddenly found her best _ammunition_. "What are you seeking to prove? That no one should put _unchaste_ eyes on you unless helping your _defection_? That you deserve more trust than any of Goldfinger's minions?" She smiled even more at her silence. "I strongly agree with Janus, actually; years haven't changed you. You're still the same little trembling _hooker_ … looking for protective strong arms."

The half-Asian gritted her teeth. She had already got her fill of this Ossetian scumbag before that... and she hadn't even time to retort. Armed mercenaries just had entered the lounge, causing surrounding people to start panicking. It didn't last long; they were all methodically murdered, one by one. The two guards standing at the entrance had evidently been insufficient against such a well-armed troop; about ten people, all wearing protective helmets, bulletproof vests and wielding FN P90 submachine guns – fifty rounds, high rate of fire, quick reloading.  Not your average _amateur_ equipment

"The situation's under control madam.", one of the men reported to the dark-haired woman.

"What about the casino's security?"

"Heavy casualties. Most of it is digging in at the vault's access point."

"How long will they hold their position?"

"About... half an hour, I think. Maybe less."

"Good. Keep cornering them. They are wrecking all their chances to stop us. Are there civilians remaining?"

"Not where they would block our way."

"Tell our men I'm on my way to the vault. Escort this man down there as well… in a single piece preferably."

"And the women?"

She briefly looked both at the company concerned.

"I don't give a damn about the blonde. As for the other… I need her alive, but feel free to make her more cooperative if she tries to get in the way. Now my apologizes for leaving so soon."

As the other mercenaries were seizing them, eventually taking GoldenEye's gun, she made her way to the exit. Before going through the door, she asked the half-Asian;

"One last question for now, little one. Have you worked out who you were fighting on that rooftop in Hong Kong?" No answer. "Such a strange _coincidence_ … Neither has Mr. Hunter."

 

_"Don't look back, look straight ahead…  
Don't turn away, then the voice it said…_

_Don't look back, yesterday's gone…  
Don't turn away, you can take it on."_


	9. Chapter 9

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter nine >>>>>_

_ >>>>> A-ha, "The Living Daylights"_

_"Hey driver… where're we going?_  
_I swear… my nerves are showing._  
  
_Set your hopes up… way too high…_  
_The living's in the way… we… die._ "

Two of the mercenaries had grabbed her arms, the P90s' threatening presence aiming to make her unable to react. Yet it wasn't her reason for doing so… If the Ossetian spider, the goddamn _Onatopp_ , wanted to stir up _trouble_ , it was an astonishing success.

A part of her memory she thought she had completely lost had suddenly released itself, as to confirm the last words she had heard. Her inner self was in Hong Kong, watching the exact playback of the rooftop fight. At a particular moment, it stopped. She was stuck in the air, her assailant having the arms stretched to throw her far from him. Unlike as in Janus' debriefing, the image had a great sharpness. To the extent that she could clearly  remember each detail… ' _He had a handsome face, if you ignored the blood, but it didn’t really matter now.'_

No doubt. It was the _Mr. Hunter_ Onatopp spoke about. The very same that was standing within one meter of  her. At least she had the answer to another of her questions: no, he wouldn't be a _support_. Actually, she had gently come in that place to be caught in the middle, not even _understanding why_. She was expecting people like them to provide answers… ' _A joke!'_ They were all the same, regardless to the side they were on.

If she'd let herself be pushed around, she'd be driven back into the _loving arms_ of the two-faced. The whole story would have been for nothing. But she actually had nothing to lose by trying to carry it off in another way. _Hazardous_ , but particularly _tempting_ one.

As both her arms were strongly held by the two men, there wasn't a thousand ways to strike. She slightly turned her back to the right one to plant her right heel in his solar plexus, in a quick jump to gain strength. Once that powerful Tobi Ushiro Geri achieved, she immediately rose her now freed right fist to punch the left one on the chin. At least neither of them got back on their feet… _'Wear a chin piece next time, jackass_.'

Up to that point, the mercenaries had obviously hesitated to open fire. More than Onatopp not expressly wanting her death, there wasn't enough space in the lounge to avoid friendly fire. Yet one of them raised his weapon against her. In the time of doing so, a front kick sent it flying, then falling onto her hand.

" _Pray hard_.", she whispered with an almost wicked smile.

A spray of bullets went through the man's chest, his Kevlar vest being helpless at such a short distance. His comrades' reaction came too late, letting her circularly turn towards them and bring the gun's front grip to her left hand. Now she could fully counter the recoil, it wasn't too difficult to mow them down before they could properly respond. Watching them collapsing was even becoming delightful. But her satisfaction turned out to be short-lived…  she suddenly heard the undesired _click_. So soon out of ammo. 

As she was suddenly petrified, one of the remaining men fell at her feet, a .50 AE bullet having easily been through his helmet and head. Another had come very close to her, near the window bay. But he wasn't aiming at her. He was slowly stepping backwards, unarmed. With the helmet's red visor, it was impossible to see his eyes, yet his posture was clearly giving away how much he was terrified.

Her glance turned to GoldenEye. He was already offhandly walking towards the man and her, his chrome-plated gun lowered, his heels clicking on the marble floor. He could shoot both of them in a trice, but it was evidently not his aim. ' _Empty clip…?'_ It wasn't even a question for the mercenary, who literally pounced on the first P90 within easy reach, then fired all his rounds on him.

She blinked, aghast. ' _Impossible_.' All were _good shots_ , she had seen it with her own two eyes. Yet he was still strolling on over them, coming through _unscathed_. She then noticed that _air_ was eerily _blurred_ around him… of course. The much talked about _'magnetic shield'_. Nothing else could have permitted him to dodge bullets _effortlessly_.

But even worse was his smile. A predatory one, fortunately aimed more at the _desperate shooter_ than at her : a fierce push kick suddenly threw the latter through the large glass panel. The man hadn't even time to shout something that he was already out of sight. Letting a strong arm suddenly grab her in a chokehold, the empty P90 falling from her hands.

"No escape this time.", GoldenEye stated.

The hold was too tight to answer, only allowing an hoarse, painful gasp to get out of her throat.

"I promised Scaramanga not to kill you. _Easy_. You hadn't _done anything_. Now I'll make it _conditional_." He paused, then said; "I'd bet that if you had enough ammo, you'd have done the same as that jerk I've sent _flying_."

Her hands were helplessly trying to remove his arm, her throat now unable to emit any sound.

"I don't have much time. Help me offing Onatopp, and I let you live."

She nodded to make him understand she agreed with that. It was a thousand times better to have Onatopp killed than herself choked. And she was relieved he finally released his grip, letting her grab his arm to keep her balance. She coughed, took some time to regain her breath  and get away from him. The guy was far too _aggressive_ to do some foolishness. 

"Tell… tell me something, would you…?", she eventually managed to wheeze.

"Whatever.", he said while kicking a corpse to get a loaded gun.

"What the heck is that… _vault_ doing there?"

"You ain't even _aware_?"

She instantly lost her temper at such a nonsense.

"No _I'm not_ , dammit! Are you gonna answer, or what?!"

His finger pointed down, while he certainly looked for the most _tactless_ words.

"There is a neutron bomb in there. They want to get it."

" _Are you se_ … _?!_ "

"I am."

_"Comes the morning and the… headlights fade away  
Hundred thousand people... I'm the one  they blame…_

_I've been waiting long… for one of us to say…_  
_Save the darkness, let it never… fade away…_  
_In the living daylights…"_

They pointed their seized P90s  out of the opening elevator door. Nobody. They hastily got out of it, now entering the storage area for food and hotel supplies. None of them said a single word. They had already been lucky to get here : if that elevator's power had happened to be disconnected as the central one's was, they would have had to get to the vault exclusively by _foot_. Which would have been a _terrifyingly huge_ waste of time.

She had asked him why he had waited for the attack at the fortieth floor instead of being in the vault, among his allies. He only answered it had to do with stabbing Dr No's mercenaries ' _in the back'_. But she was thinking there was another reason. Something like not immediately bringing her _in the place_. Or maybe, if he really thought she was aware of _what_ was in it, seeing how she'd respond to the confrontation with the spider. _Chatty_ as he was, she could expect anything. _Particularly_ after having being told in such a _brutal way_ there was a neutron bomb hiding under their feet.

Everyone's _mistrust_ was terribly meaningful. Just the issue of keeping a nuclear device close at hand or having it hanging over their heads explained everything. The _fat cats_ were all fearing both for their _empires_ and _lives_. She was here to help putting the power in the hands of No and Janus, not the other way round. _Fair enough_ , she thought. In the end, it was her best possible way to flip the two-faced off… _'Let's see how it goes with me going rogue.'_

As they were quickly walking along the creepily silent hallway, she found herself thinking that she hadn't seen Kathrin again since Onatopp's arrival. But she was almost certain the blond woman was alive, doing what she had to do. Even if she sounded insipid as a civilian, she had appeared then as knowing her business. No bad thing.

They finally arrived to a closed crash bar door. The only entrance to the casino floor. No glass on it, which meant they couldn't see what was behind. Except for the few people having the ability of seeing _through_ it.

"Once I open the door, _shoot the lot_."

He had ordered that while checking his weapon's translucent ammo clip. As though _everybody_ was here waiting for them. She hardly did likewise that he kicked the door open. Neither with a second thought nor with her having taken her aim, they fired off together.

In front of them was a group of mercenaries, guarding the area. The first of them, who was in all likelihood leaning against the door, got thrown forward by its brutal opening. The others had the reflex to take cover behind everything suitable around them : marble columns, overturned stands and slot machines. She took that opportunity to rush behind a massive display stand. Once hidden, the whistle of bullets surrounded her, while the few surviving Greek vases set on the stand exploded above her unprotected head. She lowered it with a brief cry, her fingers tightened round the body of the submachine gun.

One thing was they were too many. Even with GoldenEye currently gone in a rampage – particularly thanks to the _overuse_ of his magnetic shield – it was nearly impossible for the two of them to overcome all of their enemies. They were too easy to spot and had neither enough time nor ammunition.

While rapidly turning things over in her head, she absently looked at the mercenary that had been thrown forward. He had landed not far from her, and the increasing blood pool under him showed he had already been finished. But it wasn't what did get her attention. She had noticed a black cylinder-shaped device attached on the side of his belt. Something looking curiously like a _grenade_.

She furtively looked behind her cover, ensuring that GoldenEye was still emptying his ammo clips on No's men, got some air. Then flung herself towards the corpse. She couldn't grab it, but she had now to crawl only for a little distance to do so… which was more than enough for her to become an easy target.

She rushed to her objective, shouting a mental ' _Crap!'_ as hearing bullets striking always nearer to her. She eventually managed to get her hands on the grenade she was searching for, hurried to remove it from the belt. Her return behind the display stand seemed awfully long, as adrenaline and stress to be hit by a bullet or to have the display going off were distending time to drive her crazy.  Still she finally had a great relief. She had made it, safe and sound.

_"All right… hold on tight now…  
It's down… down to the wire…"_

It took some time for her to calm her nerves, leading her to realize that GoldenEye was crouching just next to her.

" _Flat batteries_?", she ironically asked.

"Shut up.", he replied with irritation. "You're completely nuts."

"So are you, _mister Genius_." (She had a slight tired laugh, waved the black cylinder in her hand) "I've got _this_."

He looked at it incredulously, while she read with curiosity the inscription it bore : _'CTS Model 7290M Mini Bang – 1.5 second delay' _.__

"What the hell are you waiting for?", he harshly asked. "Throw it!"

"How does it work?"

"What? You…?!" (He interrupted his sentence as losing his temper, stretched the hand) " _Gimme_."

" _How does it work?_ "

He had an exasperated sigh, but resigned to give her a response:

"You hold the _spoon_ with your thumb, remove the pin, throw the grenade _far away_ and instantly protect your ears and eyes to not get _deaf_ and _blind_. Now _move!_ "

She nodded, having understood she was actually carrying a _flash bang_. As he had said, she firmly pressed the safety lever with her thumb, before sharply pulling the pin with her teeth. Exactly _like in a movie_. She instantly raised herself and tossed the device as strongly as she could. Without even hearing what some of their enemies shouted, she then curled up behind the display stand, closing her eyes, covering her ears.

Despite her quick protection, the detonation was indeed deafening. She would later learn that it was meant to have a power of 180 decibels for one second, which barely corresponds to ten thousand times the amount of noise made by a gunshot. Really _serious_ stuff.

Even with her eyes shut, she had felt that the flash had been at least equally _blinding_. Fortunately, she hadn't been really affected, yet she hadn't been able to hit the ground running as fast as GoldenEye. She stood up after him, vaulted the stand, ran to the closest mercenary. As he was still partly stunned, it made it easier for her to strike his gun-wielding arm from below, then get under his elbow to step aside and finally thrust his head against a wall.

She quickly grabbed the P90 she had provided herself in such a way, opening fire on the remaining alive men.

_"Comes the morning and the…  headlights fade in rain…  
Hundred thousand changes… everything's the same…"_

"Good job."

His voice seemed to resonate in what had once been a lively shopping arcade. As much as the empty magazine hitting the cartridge-littered ground or the sharp draw of his submachine gun's charging handle. After such a fight, the surrounding silence was atrocious to her. ' _Le calme avant la tempête.'_ , her mother would have said in French. ' _Correct, mom_. _That's exactly what that goddamned silence is… the calm before the storm.'_

He suddenly startled her, as snapping his finger just next to her ear.

"No time for breaking down. So look _up_ …" (He firmly lifted her chin) "…and aim right. OK?"

"OK.", she acknowledged.

"Let's go."

 _"Comes the morning and the… headlights fade away…_  
_Hundred thousand people... I'm the one they frame…_  
_In the living daylights…"_


	10. Chapter 10

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter ten >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Big Pig, "Money God"_

_"_ _You promised me a house and a white carnation…  
Oh lord give me money to pray._

_I need a big fix of some holy salvation…  
Oh lord give me money to pray."_

Roughly twenty minutes had passed since the mercenaries' arrival, and silence had died out for a while now. She expected the casino floor to have become a _moving chaos_ , with people wandering more or less randomly, like some anarchically crawling _swarm_. Yet it hadn't. Around her, the number of civilians had eventually decreased, but the remaining ones were mostly still gambling, as if nothing had _ever_ happened around them.

Something was wrong in their conduct. Not that they would have necessarily been either a howling mob or a zombie horde, despite her first thought, still something was missing in such a scene. She had shoved unmindfully somebody aside, keeping following GoldenEye double-quick, when she understood what: _gathering onlookers_. The kind of those popping up as soon as the slightest _exotic thing_ happens.

She remembered what was reported to Onatopp, back in the Sky Lounge: ' _not where they would block our way_.' Apparently, No's men had done well in _terrifying_ everybody. Of course, there had to be some bystanders around watching them. But it was only _covertly_. How odd. After all, they were roughly looking like _action heroes_ : armed, _almost_ casually clothed, and, to the hawk-eyed ones, fitted with _cybernetics_.

Maybe it was because of her that nobody were approaching them. The imitation leather jacket she wore having been rapidly ruined in the action, she had thrown it away to pull on a much more useful Kevlar vest, stolen to some dead enemy. It was probably enough to not gain people's trust. And to permit the two of them to move on _efficiently_.

Up to that point, they hadn't met any other mercenary. But they rapidly got it was only a matter of time before they would come across the bulk of the troop: the concentration of civilians brutally came near to zero, while they entered what had once been a luxury poker room – now a _deserted_ _battlefield_.

The only beings they found were all dead. Goldfinger's security guards. Actually, they hadn't met any of them alive since when the attack started. Even with the light flak jackets and the expensive Heckler & Koch HK 416 rifles they were equipped especially for the occasion, they had visibly fallen short of resisting.

She grabbed an HK and rapidly collected magazines she slipped into her vest's pockets. She had always been a better shooter with rifles than small submachine guns like the P90. She really appreciated that the one she picked was mounted with a compact scope and a vertical grip: she'd both be able to shoot from a distance and steady the rifle better.

 _'How has it been possible?',_ she thought while slinging her new _plaything_ across her back. These guys' employer _knew_ the casino would be attacked. Even with less well equipping its security staff, anyone but him would have strengthened it. The neutron bomb was a too important issue to not do so. ' _Unless...'_

 _'Rubbish.'_ , she mentally snapped back. ' _He can't be that much out of his mind.'_ She tried to dismiss what just occurred to her while continuing on her way. She had certainly watched too many movies... Who would detonate a neutron bomb within his _own_ casino to get rid of _two or three_ measly mercenaries? It wasn't making any sense. And then, assuming he'd do so, it would attract intelligence people like flies to honey... nobody would afford such a huge risk for almost _nothing_.

"Hey _Hunter_!", she suddenly called.

The latter didn't stop going on walking in front, but slightly turned the head.

"Yes, _you_ , big guy.", she continued, catching him up. "You forgot to tell me about something."

"What?"

"Let's imagine we get inside the vault in a single piece. What's the plan?"

" _Later_.", he sharply answered.

"In your language: _never_.", she stated, leading him to shrug the shoulders. "At least reassure me: it has _nothing_ to do with the bomb blowing up, right?"

He looked at her, frowned, but didn't say anything.

" ...or... _has it_?"

He stayed mute. She wanted to let slip a devastated _goddammit_ , but she didn't even find the motivation. The man had talent in driving her crazy.

_"They wanted to start up a bloody revolution…  
Oh lord give me money to pray._

_But blood and guts lord don't end up in solution…  
Oh lord give me money to pray."_

Further, some gaming tables had been toppled to provide barricades to the last members of the downsized security staff. Which didn't mean they had made it any more than their dead pals. Everything in the area had been riddled with bullets, turning the cozy room into post-apocalyptic scenery. And then, the door so harshly defended was wide open. _Hell's gate,_ undoubtedly. But in ridiculously _small_ dimensions.

She wanted to tell him to fend for himself. But as insane as getting inside the hornet's nest sounded, she didn't. Whether she followed him or not would have solely affected her own _exit strategy_... it wasn't time to play havoc with that.

All the security devices installed in the corridor they went through had been carefully disabled, providing them a straight line to the only elevator that was deliberately not out of order. When he pushed the call button, she swallowed. From that time onward, all of those below would be aware of their approximate position.

"And… what's next?", she asked while the door opened on the empty cabin.

No verbal answer, as usual. He shoved her inside, pushed the down key but didn't entered in himself.

" _Wait…!_ "

The doors were already closed, the elevator beginning descent. _God…_ which game was he _exactly_ playing?

A big _bump_ on the car's roof pulled her out of her wonders, followed by the opening – kicking, actually – of the emergency escape hatch. She saw his arm reaching out to her, thus put all her strength in a jump to catch it. For once, his characteristic strong grip was of great help, permitting her to gain height without too much concern regarding the elevator's drop speed. She eventually managed to press a foot, then the other, on the edges of the opening, soon able to _safely_ crouch on the ceiling.

"Couldn't you just open it from the inside rather than showing off?"

"These are always locked from the _outside_."

"Oh. So you… kept the shaft door open and… jumped…" (He nodded affirmatively before she could pronounce an uncertain _right?_ ) "Yeah, of course you did."

Below them, the cabin started to slow down, so that he took something in his hand she instantly recognized. A flash bang.

"You should now be able to throw it at the right time.", he stated without even asking.

"What do you mean in _right time_?"

"When they'll stop wasting their ammo."

She acknowledged by a simple shrug. Barely a second later, although the elevator's door was still closed, a spray of bullets thundered the whole cabin.

"Stop that!", some anonymous voice shouted when it actually opened. "They're not in there!"

The only response it got was the toss of a certain device on the ground. Then the even more ear-piercing thunder. While there was no question that their opponents were all more or less stunned, she this time didn't need much time to recover. She got back into the elevator, rapidly unslung her rifle and hurried to open fire along with GoldenEye. 

_"_ _We pray to money god…  
To give us consolation._

_We pray to the money god…  
To give us resurrection."_

The eye already stuck to the scope, she only focused on her targets. Five men in an identical outfit, without the possibility to take cover, blinded and deafened. Their case _had_ to be rapidly sorted out. She then noticed there was an armored door wide open in front of them, leading to a security room in which all the surveillance monitors were surprisingly working. She followed him closely to one of them, soon looking at the screen he just pointed.

She saw a part of a circular hallway, crowded with about fifteen mercenaries. Some of them were busy with a large blast door, suggesting that they were trying to bridge the security unit of its lock, undoubtedly loaded with electronics.

"Do you have a good memory for numbers?", he suddenly asked.

"Well, yes... Why such a question?"

" _21 58 11 43 95 64_. Keep these _deeply_ in your mind."

"21 58 11 43 95 64.", she repeated without understanding, once aloud, then several times mentally. "What is that for?" (No answer.) "OK, you know what? I don't care. Just tell me: is the bomb behind that big armored door?" (He nodded affirmatively) "Well... and how are we supposed to sneak up behind a _whole army_ in a such a _confined_ space, _mister Genius_?"

He rapidly typed something in a console next to him. On the surveillance monitor, the blast door began to slowly open, while some mercenaries looked amazed. _She too_. But for the bad reason.

" _Are you completely insane...?!_ ", she let out, staggered by such an aberration.

He obviously didn't say a word, rather showing the double door separating the security room from the rest of the vault. He was rather _expressive_ , in his non-verbal jargon. That was the quickest way she'd ever knew of saying _keep going and shut up_. Still, the door opened even before she could reach it. And something way _stronger_ than a harsh punch in the chest crashed her to the ground. 

_"_ _Oh lord… Can you listen to my heartbeat…?  
Oh lord… Can you wipe away my fears…?_

_Oh lord… Can you listen to my heartbeat…?  
Oh lord… Can you wipe away my tears…?"_


	11. Chapter 11

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter eleven >>>>>_

_ >>>>> The Black Angels, "You on the Run"_

_"Now you on the run… son…_  
_Since 1981…_  
  
_Yeah you went and did… some things…_  
_And spoiled all the fun…"_

Her rib cage was burning and her face twisted with pain, as her Kevlar vest couldn't have completely dissipated the energy of two bullets shot _point blank_. But even worst was that she knew all too well the unpleasant cackle that followed.

"Does it hurt?", Xenia asked, faking _innocence_.

"くたばれ!" (Kutabare!, _Go to hell!_ )

"Oh, it's been quite some time since I last heard you swearing in your _language_.", the Ossetian clearly enjoyed to state.

"You'd have been _safer_ if you didn't!", she spat out.

"I don't doubt your _sincerity_." (She paused, switching to GoldenEye to take an even more sarcastic tone.) "As for you, mister Hunter, I _admire_ your initiative. Giving me full access to the _OMEN_... even my favorite lovers aren't half the _man_ you are."

As Onatopp was still taunting him, the half-Asian got up with difficulty, slightly bending. As painful as the injury was, it was only part of some personal _amusement_... if the bullets had been meant to kill her, her brains would have already been blown out. And the spider wouldn't be grabbing her by the collar with her face warped by an odious smile.

"Come here little one. What you _eagerly_ wanted to see throughout this blissful evening is close at hand now."

Xenia gestured towards one of the mercenaries, then took the lead while pulling her away, an arm around her shoulders. They entered the hallway previously seen on the monitor, that happened to actually go around a round central room, which only access was the blast door, and to be parallel to an outer ring. The latter included the security room, but also other curved ones, on which large bulletproof glass panels were giving away that they were full of armored storage cabinets. It wasn't difficult to figure that the contents of these ones were potentially enough to make someone financially safe for _several generations_... there was even an odd feeling in being here not to steal it.

Finally, they came inside the inner core. Nothing really impressing, except the cylindrical device standing in its center. It was roughly a meter twenty tall, and a slightly red lit line was running between the two halves of its silver frame, before splitting in two parallel lines along the lower third of its height. There also was some kind of _logo_ on its top: three kite shapes in a triangular setup, their longest part pointing to the outside.

"See? The _OMEN_.", Xenia said before turning round. "What does it stand for, exactly?"

" _Organic Mass Energetic Neutralizer_.", GoldenEye responded, perceptibly hacked off.

"Oh yes, thank you. Rather _fitting_ acronym, I'd say."

She interrupted when thick ropes fell from the ceiling. As some of the Ossetian's men immediately seized them to tie the OMEN device down, the half-Asian suddenly understood both how the neutron bomb had been put in there hidden from public view and what would have been GoldenEye's exit strategy if he had been able to activate it: just above the center of the room was a large duct leading to the outside.

"Finding some _blueprints_ on the black market can open considerable possibilities... bad for you that it was the case for this vault's ones.", the spider commented.

"We're ready to leave madam.", a mercenary notified her.

"Is my rope deployed?"

"It is, madam."

"Good." (She roughly grasped Kaiko's arm, pulling her to the talked-about rope.) "Time to go, little one. I'm afraid there's a quite good-looking man here you won't see again... won't you say goodbye, mister Hunter?" (He only frowned, aimed at by her mercenaries.) "Oh, never mind."

Xenia opened the karabiner attached on the tactical harness she was wearing to hook it up on a ring inserted on the nylon rope. She pulled the latter twice, taking the half-Asian with her, and their ascension through the duct began. The neutron bomb followed them, while they could hear for a moment the sound of shooting. It rapidly stopped, and they were soon back in the open air.

The rope they were lifted by came from an unusually shaped VTOL aircraft.  A red-lined, light gray twin-engined tiltrotor, nearly as wide as a Bell Boeing V-22 Osprey, its famous counterpart of the US Air Force. Having a much more modern outline than that one, it was certainly some overpriced _custom_ model.

The ascent came to an end when they reached the aircraft's rear loading ramp. While two crewmen were preparing to receive the OMEN, Onatopp rapidly unhooked herself to brutally pin the half-Asian against the sidewall, pressing a forearm on her throat.

"I know _someone_ who'll be very displeased to learn about all your mess… so displeased that I'm quite sure he'll _finally_ let me take care of your pretty little ass.", the Ossetian hissed.

" _Lucky me_."

As feeling the hard blow in her stomach, she wondered how she could still have courage to be so smug after such a terrible failure. In a way, her mission was accomplished: GoldenEye was dead and the neutron bomb about to pass into the _right_ hands. But she had also given the two-faced an occasion to have her completely in his mercy… a prospect that was sending a shiver down her spine.

_"Just sit on this groove...  and chew...  
As the heat... grew and grew..._

_A life of taking... love...  
She fit like a glove..."_

She retaliated by a sudden knee kick, which confused her opponent only for the few seconds necessary to take the CZ 75B handgun holstered on the latter's belt. Leaning her back against the sidewall, she kicked Xenia off, raising the weapon.

" _Keep off._ ", she breathed to the crewmen.

They had finished handling the OMEN and didn't decide to move, but changed their mind when one of them got a bullet in the leg. She could now stand near the neutron bomb, the loading ramp still opened behind her, aiming at the three. Yet, even in having a gun held to the head and in being the only one able to stand in her way, Onatopp was more than enough to make her security situation very fragile. As _enraged_ as evidenced by her glare, she could do _anything_.

Although she hadn't had any idea of what doing next, Kaiko eventually spotted a touch screen on the side of the bomb, likely to be a control panel. Up to that point, the situation could only end in one of  two ways, both sounding as _suicidal_ as the other: activating it and finding very quickly an exit, or not activating it and preventing herself to have an exit before long.

The choice happened to be _precipitated_ when she took a furtive glance behind her. A white point rising above the vault's exit duct briefly focused her attention, and quite rightly. Not exactly because she identified it as an helicopter, but because of a much smaller detail: a dark silhouette hovering under it, which was shaped less like a mercenary than somebody she thought _dead_ a minute earlier.

She blindly tapped on the touch screen to keep primarily aiming at the Ossetian. That one sneered at her, with a tone sounding even creepier than it used to be.

"You're cracking me up, little one... I didn't know you were so _stupid_." (She had a snicker.)"Maybe something like _random_ digits updated every six hours should help you, don't you think?"

The half-Asian had another quick side glance, soon realizing her opponent was perfectly right. The screen was displaying blank cases, inviting her to enter a code. As it happened, she actually had _numbers_ in mind... the ones GoldenEye told her so insistently to remember.

"A pity. _I know them_."

She was naturally bluffing, having no guarantee that it was the actual code. At least she wouldn't have repeated it mentally during the ascension to the aircraft _totally_ for nothing. She typed the digits by pairs, always looking out for long before continuing. ' _21', '58',' 11'_. Xenia seemed to lose progressively all her remaining confidence throughout the process. ' _43',' 95'_. She was even literally turning _livid_. ' _6'…'4'_. Another sneer came, yet with a far less _self-confident_ tone:

"You'd never kill hundreds of _innocent_ people by your _own_ hand, _would you_?"

It was too late for some moral dilemma. As paranoid as Hunter was, he had been as incredibly _far-sighted_ as giving her the _fitting_ code. All that remained was tapping the newly unlocked _activation_ button.

"And you, the so _innocent_ one, would waste a single second in _hesitating_?", she answered back with a cold smile. " _Neither do I_."

Onatopp didn't wait anymore to run and catch her, even with the inevitably fired bullet having hit her arm. Or perhaps only _grazed_ her arm. All passed too quickly to know. Before getting her gun-wielding hand grabbed, she bent to sweep the spider's legs. Once the latter knocked down, she pressed the key, not even bothering to readjust the timer but swallowing hard. ' _Firing delay: 00:05:00.'_

She pushed aside Xenia, who had stood up to pounce again on her, then rushed along the opened loading bay to gain momentum. Then, at the tail end, without a second thought, she jumped. An actual _leap of faith_.

 _"Well hello… Harmony…_  
_Whatcha doin' for free…?_  
  
_Yeah get on your knees… you freak…_  
_And please… please me…"_

Gliding through the air, above Sin City's strip lighting, made her feeling both safe and in great peril. If she failed, she would certainly not get _only_ a shin broken. She instinctively arched her back and bended the legs, trying to slow down free fall and calm her nerves. It resulted in the seconds that followed being of the longest in her whole life… much longer than when crawling to the first grenade she had thrown, an _eternity_ ago.

And then, the miracle. An arm strongly clenching her extended one, wresting her from void. Fighting against gravity was particularly difficult, making both of them trembling. It was only by gathering all her strength that she managed to grab a rung of the rope ladder, then draw level with him. Compared to that, climbing to the white Eurocopter EC135 would be _dead easy_.

As she went in, she noticed that the cabin had four cream leather seats, and that behind the two front ones only one pilot was sitting at the cockpit. GoldenEye followed her inside, letting the rope ladder fall out after having removed its end from a hook placed on the outer sidewall, and finally closing the sliding door.

"What about the OMEN?", he asked straight away.

She was still left out of breath, so tried to speak the least to make her understood.

"... _Activated... less than five minutes..._ " (she extended her hand's five fingers) "... _to get out_."

He nodded, turning to the pilot's seat.

"Heard that, _Galore_?"

"Yeah. Fasten your harnesses _guys_ , we're off."

Both of them did so, while she thought that she actually knew the pilot's voice: it was exactly the one of that _Kathrin Blackman_. The one she hadn't seen for the whole evening. The cabin leant forward, as the helicopter departing from hover was very rapidly speeding up, and they soon quit Las Vegas, judging by the bright lights fading away.

Minutes passed, and she didn't know where they were heading to. Nobody had said a single word since they had gone. She nervously stretched herself, glancing at GoldenEye. He was folding arms and closing the eyes as though sleeping, but his sparse twitches betrayed restlessness. So she wasn't the only one…

"Hey _Silver_."

She turned towards the pilot, just behind her.

"Talking to me?"

"Of course. _SilverEye_ , if you prefer."

"I'm not any SilverEye.", she sharply stated, leading to an amused laughter.

"Your left eye is, anyway."(No answer.) "I just wanted to know: am I right to think that Janus totally freaks you out?"

"What makes you think so?", she asked, hiding her awkwardness about being so easily _found out_.

"Everybody wouldn't have activated the OMEN. Especially when having been on the other side."

She had a sigh. _'Activating the OMEN'_. She hadn't any goddamned feeling about it. The only thing meaningful was that she _wouldn't_ return to Russia. That the two-faced _wouldn't_ be able to lay a single finger on her. That, against all odds, she _won_. 

"He probably does, but to be fair I'm quite mixed up right now."

Of course he _did_. But in such a time it wasn't a satisfying explanation to having a whole part of her mind uncontrollably wimping out.

"I can understand.", the pilot acknowledged, permitting easy moving on.

"By the way… why did he call you _Galore_?"

"Ask _him_."

She turned back to him, not knowing whether he was really sleeping or not. In any case, his tensed expression was intimidating enough not to want to ask anything.

" _Galore_ 's her real name.", he simply answered by himself, without moving. " _Pussy Galore,_ actually."

"Are you... _kidding me_?", she asked, the eyes suddenly widened.

"Nope, he's not.", the one concerned sighed. "It's real bothering in everyday life, so the fake name's much better. Except for some _pain_ that still doesn't use it."

" _Shut up_.", GoldenEye answered back with an almost imperceptible grin.

"Where are we going?", she asked again after a pause.

"Well, we're gonna pop into some airfield near L.A.. There'll be a jet waiting for Jon and I, and another should come pick you up."

"We won't stay together?"

"Nope. Goldfinger doesn't want you yet in _Miami_. For him you're still a _Janusian_..."

" _Janusian_?"

"Short for _'member of the Janus Syndicate'_. Quite _convenient_ to me."

"What's lying ahead for me then?"

"Oh... just a little island in the south of Thailand. I hope you like tropical climate, because I think you'll stay in there for _quite_ a moment." (She paused, as if wanting to keep her interlocutor in suspense.) " _Scaramanga's private bit of paradise_ , if you want to know."

 _"A life of... solitude..._  
_Yeah one with me... no you..._  
  
_Life on the run... son..._  
_It's all you knew..."_


	12. Chapter 12

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter twelve >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Paul McCartney and Wings, "Live and Let Die"_

_"When you were young...  
And your heart... was an open book..._

_You used to say... "live and let live"...  
You know you did... you know you did... you know you did..."_

She moved the ' _Function'_ switch to _'Tape'_ , then set the volume to _'2'_. Only a week ago, the object she was handling was still gathering dust in a small shop of _Ko Panyi_ village. A short time after having seen it, she had already given the shop keeper four hundred fifty baht – approximately fourteen dollars –, leaving the place with it under the arm. Not much paid, given all the _sentimental value_ it had for her.

It was a black Sony CFM-140 radio-cassette player, the very same as the one her parents bought back a little before her birth. It then always was a great joy when her twin brother, Akira, and her could have it for the entire Saturday afternoon, listening to the _J-AC Top 40_ on Kyoto's _α-Station_ or to audio tapes nabbed when their dad wasn't in sight.

She had restored her newly acquired one for hours, cleaning each part very carefully and even replacing the drive belts, which had been a great way to think to something else than what she had done recently. If her family was watching her from wherever they were, they would most likely be terrified. In eleven years, she had ended up with much more blood on the hands than their _murderers_ in a lifetime.

She pushed the _'Stop'_ button to open the tape door, before slipping a cassette inside and rewinding it. She had found it inside the player, probably forgotten in there for a long time, and only bearing its manufacturer's brand – _'TDK'_. What was recorded on it thus remained a complete mystery, at least until she pressed _'Play'_.

Some cracks, then a song starting, accompanied by piano music. The recording was quite lousy, still she recognized the melody. A seventies hit performed by the _Wings_ , the band lead by Paul McCartney and his wife Linda  after the _Beatles'_ break-up. _Live and Let Die_.

She stretched out her legs, as sitting on a comfortable chair near an opened sliding window, but then let a curse out when feeling a sudden twinge she had wanted to not happen again. She would have much preferred Xenia's bullets to result into bruises, no matter what size. Yet, if it had been actually the case for one, the other hadn't had such _civility_. Besides having struck at a rib's level , part of it had made its way to the skin, both cracking the bone and leaving a wound slow as hell to heal. Incidentally, the large purplish black bruise encircling it was too, making the whole thing look all the more terrible… _'Thank you, you goddamned scumbag.'_

_"But if this ever-changing world... in which we're livin'...  
Makes you give in and cry..."_

Two weeks ago, she was still crossing the Pacific, in the Bombardier Global 6000 that took her from Los Angeles to Taipei. Even with all the on-board convenience, the flight had been no exception to the rule: as always when taking an aircraft, she couldn't get asleep. But this time not because of some _unbearable_ engine noise.

The TV had made a big deal about the _event_ : the _CMGN_ news channel, one the world's most popular bunches of _stupid windbags_ , particularly seemed to have worked twice as hard as any of its competitors. The same _pattern_ had been repeated over and over again, providing the watchers all the improper morbidity they _needed_ to see. The smartphone footage of an _unknown object_ falling from a comparably unusual _tiltrotor aircraft_ that didn't wait any longer to seek out _new horizons_ , the _expert looking_ host showing the _expertly-made looking_ map of the concerned area, the _shock_ images  of emergency and security teams completely thrown off by the _ownerless_ clothes lying around them, and, most _lucrative_ of all, the never-ending _commercial breaks_.

With nearly fifteen years of draconian antiterrorist policy, the US were likely to get ridiculed internationally. The reason why _clothes_ were wafted over that part of the Las Vegas Strip Boulevard was that anything having had organic tissues within the half-kilometer around the bomb explosion had literally _vanished_. That was the point: _disabling_ personnel and electronics while leaving infrastructures undamaged.

Of course this was little knowledge on how neutron bombs actually worked, but enough for her to not breathe easy. With the OMEN going off in a place _always_ filled with people, there wouldn't have been any possible outcome else than _quite a few_ dead. So _Galore_ was utterly right. Anybody wouldn't have activated that goddamned device. Yet _she_ had done it, rather having people that didn't ask for it _vaporized_ than the guts to confront directly the two-faced. What a _coward_ she had been.

When not so brooding, she had done the math of all the flight time she had accumulated in the last few days. Eighteen hours of commercial flight from St Petersburg to Las Vegas – including the stops in Moscow and New York –, plus one hour to get to L.A., plus twelve others to Taipei equaled no less than _thirty one_ hours. And then she still had around three thousand kilometers to go before reaching her actual destination, _Phuket Island_.

To avoid herself sinking into paranoid delirium by having blown the neutron bomb and only napped for five hours since she had left St Petersburg, she refused to move an inch within the three following days. Still, the big joke was that the Midas Grand's attack had, _comparatively_ , lasted for less than _two_ miserable hours.

Three days' rest did her _a world_ of good, letting her reconsider the whole story with a cool head. The plan was originally GoldenEye pressing the button and getting out without anything to wonder for. These people would have died anyway, so there was nothing to deplore. To their eyes, she never existed. To hers, neither they did. And then, she had dragged herself along the skid row long enough to have seen the hidden face of the _great_ humanity. Everybody was only thinking of their own interests : as rushing headlong to _Piter_ – St Petersburg – would have led her to _disaster_ , it wouldn't have done her any harm to think a _little more_ of hers.

After four final hours spent on a Cessna Citation CJ2+, she finally reached Thailand, yet welcomed by heavy rain. _'Oh well'_ , she had thought while hastily stepping outside the jet, _'let's deal with it_. _'_ Her host Scaramanga had come personally to pick her up to his talked-about _private island_ , only accessible by boat. And she had spent all her time in there since her arrival, stifling her _persistent_ remorse and waiting for her injury to heal by going to the surrounding places, walking around or buying some replacement stuff to compensate the loss of the backpack she had brought in Vegas, then, after her trip to Ko Panyi, by fixing the Sony cassette player.

_"Say live and let die."_

She looked outside the window, enjoying the view on the sea and on that peculiar mushroom-shaped _Ko Tapu_ islet, lying about forty meters from the shore. According to what she had been told, the island where she was, _Khao Phing Kan_ , used to be deserted until some _nebulous_ millionaire bought it in the early seventies. He then spent his wealth to have a cave blasted into the side of one of the island's hills and a whole villa built inside it. Yet, when Scaramanga first visited the site, the previous proprietor had left it for a long time and the entire island had been forbidden to tourist access, as having become part of the _Ao Phang Nga_ National Park.

The spot was ideal for someone that wanted privacy, but was in serious need of renovation: that's where part of Scaramanga's own millions went into, along with persuading the local authorities to let him settle in the now protected area. One of the biggest improvements brought then was the renewal of the private solar plant located on another part of the island, now ensuring  total energy independence. The _benefits_ of tropical climate… lots of rain, but lots of sunshine _too_.

"Good afternoon, miss Morikawa.", she heard Scaramanga's voice saying behind her. "It seems you finally reached your goal."

She turned around, slightly wincing because of the inevitable twinge.

"Oh… Indeed. The belts you gave me are working perfectly, as you can hear."

"Good.", he said with a nod, before a pause. "How come is that injury still bothering you?"

"Like the one who inflicted it… managing to be always _worth a slap_."

He smiled at that, while she turned back to stop the cassette.

"By the way, what did that… what's his _name_ , again? Oh yes, that mister… _Narkhirunkanok_ … _gosh_ , and I thought _Aksornpan_ was a lousy one… well, I mean, did he tell you anything _convincing_?"

"I agree on the fact that Thai people have rather _special_ surnames." (She nodded in agreement.) "On what he told me, I'd say it is quite satisfying. Doctor No has apparently difficulty to recover from the crushing defeat you made him suffer."

"Like it had been so _pleasant_ for me…", she sighed. "Never mind. Technically, what does it do?"

"Oh, things like keeping him at bay and depriving him of a significant part of his power, but that is certainly not what you would be most _interested_ to learn. Now, what would you say if learning about a deterioration of relations between him and _Janus_?"

"If so, I'd certainly ask: _To what extent?_ ", she answered with a large grin.

"Mister Narkhirunkanok's contact spoke about a surprising drop in the proportion of weapons ordered from the Janus Syndicate, even though it had been No's main and preferred supplier for years."

"While part of the stock has been _hopelessly_ lost... right ?"

Scaramanga nodded. Of course that wasn't some fatal blow to the two-faced's business, as there was always demand in arms trafficking, but she enjoyed the news as a personal victory. Short-term optimism was much more relaxing than imagining the kind of things the гад would have in store if he ever happened to get her from now on. Even if being only able to pray for Jessi was already starting to grind her gears.

"Fine...", she stated after a moment. "But what's all this about if Goldfinger doesn't want to take an interest in me?"

The thought had kept running through her head for the last days. She had risked a lot to change sides, but now nobody wanted to tell her anything about it... even though the situation was obviously evolving _day by day_.

"Don't be mistaken: so far you've been anything but forgotten."

"Then what's the matter? GoldenEye having suddenly got paranoid about me?"

"He scarcely said anything, but I don't think so. Auric would rather have."

Her eyes instantly widened. The _'Auric'_ he was talking about was none other than Goldfinger himself.

"How come he _would_... _?!_ "

"His thought comes down to this: if you've been able to deceive someone like _Janus_ , then you're perfectly able to deceive him _too_."

" _Oh_ _come on_...", she stated with exasperation. "Galore telling me that two weeks ago was OK, but now... And seriously, even if I were a _mole_ , I don't think I'd have been silly enough to raise Janus' hackles the way I did. What do you think?"

"Do you understand why I didn't want to tell you about it, then?"

She looked at him, slightly raising the eyebrows.

"Sure.", she sighed.

He silently went sit down in a nearby armchair, looking like having something quite unpleasant to say. Actually, it even took some time before he decided to let it out.

"Auric wanted something _impracticable_. That's the point."

"What kind?", she asked with apprehension.

"Bringing him Janus' head on a _spike_."

"You… _must be joking_ …", she whispered.

It did sound like a joke. A bad one. The man she wanted to help her clipping the two-faced wanted her to first _clip the two-faced_. It was ridiculous enough to force a nervous laughter out of her.

"I said we couldn't afford to waste your energy in such a crucial period."

"Dr No can strike back just anytime, right?"

" _Precisely_. Actually, if you killing Janus seems to no longer be in his short-term agenda, he now wants to get information about the man... which is still irrelevant to me." 

" _Information_?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" (She shrugged, showing she didn't get it.) "Nobody knows anything tangible about your... _ex-employer_. No name, no face, no background. By all accounts, he has everything of a _ghost_. Some even asserted he couldn't exist."

She absently turned the head, thinking deeply on what she heard. As long as she knew the two-faced, she had never wondered about that. For her, he had always been the reddish-blond man in dark suits of whom she used to be the puppet. Perhaps she even didn't want to know.

"You seem to be as unknowing as we are." (She nodded.) "But is there anyone that _wouldn't_ be?"

She smiled. Such an elegant way to ask if she could find the information herself... some way to stop having to negotiate for her. It was all more about _his_ energy wasted than hers.

"Some enemy he has, maybe?", he continued.

 _'Hm... not as far as I know.'_ , she said to herself. But she continued racking her brain. It has to be a long-time enemy, otherwise chances of getting anything interesting would be pretty slim. ' _Wait_ , _long-time...?'_

"The name was _Zu_... ah, _Zuk_ , _Zuv_ -something...", she thought aloud. "Damn! Can't remember... Well, that _dates_ me anyway..."

"Who was it?"

"Some mob boss from St Petersburg. I don't even know if he's still alive, as Janus got rid of quite some of those... I believe they couldn't stand each other, but then it was _years_ ago."

Scaramanga seemed to be very satisfied with that, even _relieved_.

"I'll do some research. Maybe we'll eventually find something."

"I hope so. If I knew about such little game for joining Goldfinger, I'd have made inquiries myself..." (She slightly shook the head.) "Oh and, by the way..."

"Tell me.", he simply said.

"Just to see how much I'm ripped off: did GoldenEye have to play the _little game_ too?"

"Now you come to mention it… he _does_. The only difference is that he _plausibly_ never worked for doctor No." (She frowned.) "Are you aware of what he was before Auric hired him?"

"A... future _Double-0 agent_?"

"Do you know what it means?"

" _Elite spy_ , or something?"

"Correct. So, now: how do you think somebody like him has sunk _so low_?"

"How would I know? I've only been told he went rogue."

By way of answer, her interlocutor simply tapped next to his right eye.

"His eye...", she said. "Dr No's doing?"

"Surprised?"

"Not really.", she admitted. "Makes sense, actually."

 _"What does it matter… to you…?_  
_When you got a job to do…_  
 _You gotta… do it well…_  
  
_You gotta give the other fellow hell…_ "


	13. Chapter 13

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter thirteen >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Frank Sinatra, "I'm Gonna Live Till I Die"_

_"I'm gonna live... till I die...  
I'm gonna laugh... 'stead of cry..._

_I'm gonna take the town... and turn it upside down...  
I'm gonna live, live, live until I die."_

"くそ!" (Kuso!, _Crap!_ )

It came like a hiss: _'Kssa!'_ Because of one mere blink too many, the eye drop had struck the tear duct instead of the synthetic cornea, resulting in instant burning – a _pain_ when one of the advantages of having a bionic eye is precisely that it doesn't _feel_ anything. But even if she'd had much preferred to do without putting on that _stupid_ contact lens, as she did the night of the Midas Grand's attack, she hadn't the choice anymore: not wearing it would make her too easily noticeable. Which wasn't _exactly_ her aim.

She had protested at coming here personally, yet even Scaramanga didn't succeed at persuading Goldfinger. If she was as _trustable_ as she claimed, she could do anything to prove it. Including collecting _sensitive_ information in one of the most corrupt former Soviet Republics, only three hundred kilometers away from the Russian border.

The only little consolation she got was tossing the two-faced indicator, which had followed her up to there : 'Великой Победы', it said. A great victory over the гад... _'Ha!'_ She'd have given anything to make it reality. So complaining instead of getting going was of no use here. Welcome to Baku, Azerbaijan... gotta enjoy the rule of the _two black golds_ – oil and caviar.

The syllable she remembered had turned out to actually come from the name Zukovsky: there had indeed been a _Valentin Dmitrievich Zukovsky_ among Saint Petersburg's mob bosses. Even better, he was still alive, having left Piter several years ago for the so-called _Dubai of the Caspian Sea_. A _forced_ exile, presumably. A point making the possibility of meeting with him interesting by itself, yet all the more hazardous for her: the two-faced had necessarily kept an eye on that one.

The man was indeed an old warhorse, one of those KGB officers who found a renewed usefulness to their skills by going independent as soon as the Soviet Union collapsed – leaving them no longer needed. The early nineties' Saint Petersburg was the ideal place to set up business, as it wasn't under the influence of any 'вор' (vor, _thief in law_ ). In other words, none of the traditional leaders of the Russian organized crime had been here to stand in the way of people like Zukovsky, although they were openly hostile towards these _newcomers_ – who often neither recognized their authority nor observed their long-standing _code of honor_.

As a result, violent gang warfare developed: Piter being a port city meant _facilitated trade_ – particularly with a largely corrupt administration –, hence _growing wallet size_. Yet Zukovsky had harshly defended his turf for more than _fifteen years_ when leaving for Baku... so the big question was: how come had somebody like Janus, who was clearly too young to have set up in the nineties,  _crushed_ such competition? To his credit, the гад had damned well carried it off.

Thinking on how she would manage to reach Zukovsky was a lot more essential to her, still. None of her new allies had a single contact in the area, so she had to get herself noticed while being a complete stranger. It could have been funny to do like in the movies, when the hero walks into the mob boss' casino and gambles so much that he is invited to a _private talk_ right before breaking the bank. Sadly, her gambling skills were clearly insufficient to consider such a scenario. 

Yet it didn't mean she wouldn't _actually_ walk into the mob boss' casino: Zukovsky had one he was most likely to be found in. In theory, the resulting game plan was pretty simple: forcing her way into his private office and ask for him. She couldn't  count on being _allowed_ in, anyway. And she would carry something that should avoid her getting instantly kicked out: a messenger bag full of cash, courtesy of Goldfinger. Kind of a well-worn _MacGuffin_ , but generally efficient.

When she entered the casino, the canvas bag wasn't even controlled. _'Good_. _'_ She wouldn't have to pass its contents off as her night's _bets_. Calmly going down the large marble stairs leading to the game room gave her time to remember the floor plan Scaramanga showed her. If it was correct, the access to the restricted area would be just next to the bar... therefore it had to be behind _that_ old fashioned dark green and cardinal velvet curtain. _Gosh_ , going by all the gilt patterns and tassels, the man had terribly bad taste in interior design – or was stuck in the nineties, but in that case it was pretty much the same.

She held a laugh at another detail: the name the place was given. _'_ _L'Or Noir'._ Naming a Azerbaijani casino _The Black Gold_... beat that for _originality_. As though the place hadn't enough post-soviet kitsch, the chosen language wasn't even Azeri, but good old lavish French. The expression _nouveau riche_ seemed all the more appropriate to describe the atmosphere. _'N'empêche, si je savais comment on dit 'or noir' en azéri, y'aurait de quoi briller en soirée mondaine ...'_ (Still, if I knew how to say 'black gold' in Azeri that'd be enough to stand out in society events...)

There was an impediment to the plan: the curtain was guarded. Some bald-headed _muscle_ was standing just next to it, at the bar. Sure, he was surrounded by three girls he was chatting with, but his choice of this particular spot while being broad enough to make GoldenEye out to be a _runt_ was particularly suspicious. Anyway, she hadn't to be particularly stealthy, but to be quick enough to leave that rats' nest as soon as possible. What she only had to do was to go for it.

Blending into the crowd as if searching for a gaming table, she walked around the room, resolved to sneak in behind the baldhead's back. She had her fill of dealing with guys twice as big as herself, as much as of bearing those goddamned potted palm trees. Probably that her _fond memories_ of Las Vegas were inwardly resurfacing... or that the issue of having a potentially indecent amount of money hanging over her back was making her a little _tense_.

She made her way to the curtain without hurrying. In front of her, the guy was still talking with his dates. _'Be kind enough to not even turn around, thank you very much.'_

  
_"The blues I lay low..._  
_I'll make them... stay low..._  
  
_They'll never trail... over my head..._  
 _I'll be a devil... till I'm an angel... but until then... Hallelujah!..."_

"Sən kimsən?" (San kimsan?)

 _'Thorny question.'_ The fact was she didn't understand either words. So yeah, going by the harsh thrust of a gun on her back, she got totally busted by the big baldhead. Three of his comrades were even taking aim at her. As she could read the words 'Служебное помещение' (Sluzhebnoye pomeshcheniye, _Staff only_ ) on the door at the back of the room, it would have been really irritating to fail so close to the director's office.

"Кто ты? " (Kto ty?, _Who are you?_ ), the menacing voice in her back asked then, most certainly switching languages.

"Союзница!" (Soyuznitsa!, _An ally!_ ), she began with affected assertiveness. "Я хочу с Валентином Дмитриевичем поговорить." (Ya khochu s Valentinom Dmitriyevichem pogovorit'., _I want to talk with Valentin Dmitrievich._ )

All four cracked up loudly. The Russian mafia's long tradition of misogyny wouldn't work at all in favor of being taken _seriously_. She watched silently the baldhead coming in front of her, now casually pointing his Smith  & Wesson 629 Competitor. A far too nice _toy_ for somebody like him, but whatever.

"Невозможно. А теперь отвали!" (Nevozmozhno. A teper' otvali!, _Impossible. Now beat it!_ ), he exclaimed, cutting the laughs short.

At this, she only removed her bag with a defiant look.

 _"Для меня вполне возмо…" (_ _Dlya menya vpolne vozmo…_ , _To me, it’s quite possib…_ )

"Ага, щас! Отвали, или я стреляю!" (Aha, shchas! Otvali, ili ya strelyayu!, _Yeah right! Back off, or I’ll shoot!_ )

 _Crap_. Not even any scope for conversation. And that big jerk just _craved_ to use his .44 Magnum.

"Эй! Что, чёрт возьми, происходит?!" (Ey! Chto, chort voz'mi, proiskhodit?!, _Hey! What the hell is going on?! )_

The _staff only_ door had opened, letting a big man in. The only one so far to have a typical Russian accent, by the way.

"Кто это?" (Kto eto?, _Who’s that?_ ), the newcomer asked again.

"Хочет эта идиотка с тобой болтать, шеф." (Khochet eta idiotka s toboy boltat', shef., _That fool wants to chat with you, boss._ )

 _'Boss'_? So _this_ was Zukovsky in person?

"Да? А что в её сумку?" (Da? A chto v yeyo sumku?, _Oh yeah? And what’s in her bag?_ )

"Нал!" (Nal!, _Cash!_ ), she hurried to answer.

"Заткнись!" (Zatknis’!, _Shut up!_ ), the baldhead barked to cut her off once again, tearing the bag from her hands to throw it to one of his colleagues.

 _'You first, jackass.'_ , she thought. But it didn't really matter. The _right person_ was currently being shown the bag's contents... and seemed all of a sudden really surprised by what he did see.

"Шмонай её." (Shmonay yeyo., _Frisk her._ ), Zukovsky ordered the baldhead, before turning back to the one holding the bag. "Ты! Посчитай все деньги." (Ty! Poschitay vse den'gi., _You! Count all the money._ )

The baldhead didn't wait for brutally dragging her to the nearby desk. She grudgingly placed her hands on it, letting him unceremoniously pat her down.

"Она чиста, шеф." (Ona chista, shef., _She’s clean, boss._ ), he eventually stated.

"Ну так приведи её." (Nu tak privedi yeyo., _Well, bring her in._ ), his boss said with a contented sigh. "Она очень занятная девушка." (Ona ochen' zanyatnaya devushka., _She’s a very interesting girl._ )

 _"Gonna dance... gonna fly..._  
_I'll take a chance... riding high..._  
  
_Before my number's up... I'm gonna fill my cup..._  
 _I'm gonna live, live, live... until I die!"_


	14. Chapter 14

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter fourteen >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Tom Jones, "Thunderball"_

_"_ _He... always runs... while others walk...  
He acts... while other men... just talk..."_

The baldhead shoved her inside, grumbling something she took to be Azeri profanity. Even though he surely had difficulty in respecting women, there fortunately was a first to everything. _'So would you just draw your .44 Mag off my back, dammit?'_

As she expected, the office itself was old-fashioned in practically every aspect, making the flat computer monitor on the desk completely anachronistic. Among the main elements were the fancy red and white silk drapes, just as much as the antique lamp with tassel shade and the bronze nymph swaying hips next to the entrance door. Still, all these weren't striking enough to match the kitsch of Tony Montana's office in _Scarface_ : that's how the oversized throne-like red and gold chair could assume its full importance in the whole room.

She ended up on a upholstered chair facing the desk, the baldhead now keeping his revolver behind her head. _'Dude, you're getting absolutely ridiculous...'_ , she sighed to herself. Looking back, she saw actually not one but two mobsters counting the money on a low table. She smiled, thinking she didn't even know the exact amount. If she had known, she would have too easily been tempted by using part of it to repay her cybernetic. Yet if the two-faced ever came to downfall, she'd get as much dough as she'd want. Keeping the whole to bribe Zukovsky seemed all the more profitable.

The latter was standing near the two, watching silently the growing pile of wads. An imposing stature he had. He certainly had strong muscles in his youth, but as he was now around sixty all had been replaced by fat. Moreover his light grey tuxedo made him look heavier, although having probably been tailored. He also carried a handle cane, which wasn't only for the sophistication of it. He had a bad limp, probably due to a shot in the right leg – which might also explained why he became sedentary.

"Сто тысяч _реальных_ долларов." (Sto tysyach _real'nykh_ dollarov., _A hundred thousand real dollars._ ), one henchmen said after some time, sounding amazed. "Она не дурачится." (Ona ne durachitsya., _She’s not messing around._ )

Zukovsky only nodded, quietly heading for his _throne_. How ironic: Goldfinger's price on Janus' head was _strictly_ identical to the one No once put on GoldenEye's. Was a _gunman_ 's death worth compromising information on a _warlord_? Or was the warlord in question a goddamned _swindler_? _'Rather die than pay him back, anyway.'_ , she thought. _'Now let's see what that one has in store for me '_

"If things go well, it will be all yours.", she said.

Zukovsky frowned, resulting in the baldhead and another mobster settling on each side of her seat.

"Почему ты говоришь по-английски?" (Pochemu ty govorish' po-angliyski?, _Why are you speaking in English?_ ), he asked suspiciously.

_Would it hurt you so much to use 'вы' (vy) when talking to me?_ That was basic Russian, though. In English the pronoun _you_ does fit any interlocutor, no matter if applying to one or several persons or used in a formal or informal conversation. But in Russian _ты_ only applies to one person informally talked to, while _вы_ does to any other case. Showing _respect_ to a guest, for instance.

Her answer came in a dry, almost contemptuous tone.

"My Russian is insufficient to hold a _serious_ conversation. I figured as a former KGB member you wouldn't have the same problem with English."

Speaking English like a mother language, the гад never bothered to use Russian when talking business with her. She considered she could try to do the same for a better general understanding.

"You're not wrong.", he stated with a smirk.

_Bingo_. What's more, he had almost no accent. Yet she suddenly heard one of the two idiots pressing up against her cracking knuckles, leading her to ask:

"Do they understand?"

"Not quite. But they are perfectly able to get when intruders have to be _disposed of_."

She looked alternatively at the baldhead and the other guy, a smaller one with a weasel face. Both were trying to intimidate her with their hard stares and bony fists. She hoped sincerely they wouldn't get to beating her up. The small one alone was fair game, perhaps even all the others together, but the baldhead looked really strong. Without a weapon, she wouldn’t have been likely to come out unscathed.

"How surprising."

Zukovsky smiled again. Probably he had in mind the quite ironic _занятная_ he used earlier: to him, she was interesting more in the sense of a strange beast than anything else.

"Please introduce yourself, young lady. I'll be curious to learn to what I owe your visit… and such _hard cash_."

_'Introduce herself'?_ _No way!_ Unloading anything related to having been Janus’ underling for more than six years was the best way to end up the neck broken… she wasn’t really up to do the baldhead such favor.

"It seems we have a common enemy.", she declared in an attempt at diversion.

"Well, _you do seem_ to know a lot more about me than I do about you.", he chuckled. "Who told you so?"

"The information is from someone claiming to be of your old fellows...  _Denis Semyonovich_ , I believe."

"Denis Semyonovich would never inform somebody he wouldn't trust."

"I only know what Francisco Scaramanga reported on the talk _they_ had."

His expression changed within the second he heard that one name, as if he suddenly bowed to _higher power._ Scaramanga had told her to feel free to mention his name, but she didn’t expect it to be such a door opener… _'Well, not so bad.'_ But she’d have questions to ask when returning to Thailand.

"Does the cash come from him?", a now much friendlier Zukovsky asked.

"From one of his close allies."

"To what purpose?"

"Learning about Janus."

" _Setting you up with Janus?_ "

She had an odd feeling when he said that, as if he took his line from some movie she didn’t know.

"I'm sorry but you're asking _seven years_ too late, young lady. All I got after I did for someone back then was having to definitely quit Saint Petersburg."

_'Seven years'_? When they first met, Scaramanga said on the armored train that it had crashed more than _five years_ ago. She didn't find anything when making further research about it, but she believed it had happened before she entered the Janus Syndicate. Hence it could be something like seven years ago, precisely.

"But you still know about the man, no matter the year I'm asking."

"I believe I am going to greatly disappoint you, but I don't.", he stated.

_"_ _He looks... at this world… and wants it all…  
So he strikes… like Thunderball._ _"_

He got to be kidding her. With a goddamned hundred grand going up in smoke, he really had to be. _'You might as well have sold him your favors, at least it wouldn’t have been so expensive!'_ He stayed fifteen years in Piter, and now he was saying he knew zilch about the two-faced? _'Rubbish! If he did he wouldn’t be stagnating in that godforsaken place!'_

"I won’t let all this cash line your pockets without any effort. If you don’t have anything to tell me, then it won't take me long to have it back."

"But you don't have the upper hand.", he answered while nodding to the two squeezing up even closer to her.

"Как знать!"(Kak znat'!, _Who knows?_ )

Seeing her turning palms to crack her bent fingers, he had a laugh and snapped his own at his henchmen.

"Пошли вон."(Poshli von., _Get out_.)

The weasel face and the two who counted the money did immediately. As for the baldhead, he clenched her shoulder quite roughly, to make her look at him in the eyes. She only raised the eyebrows, showing she wasn't impressed. He had a menacing scowl, meaning: _'Don't even think I'm done with you.'_ Whatever. He was soon out _too_.

"Alright young lady. But I warn you, I really don't know much on your man.", Zukovsky stated with another smirk.

"We'll see. How you first heard of him seems a good start."

"Hm…" (He thought deeply.) "It was… ten years ago, I think. Actually, all began with rumors on a powerful вор about to set up business in Petersburg."

"A вор? I heard there haven't been any of those since the 1990s."

"Well no,  this was true only in the 1980s. After '91, the воры (vory, _thieves in law_ ) came and settled like everyone else."

_Oh_. She'd have better checked her sources instead of reaching simplistic conclusions... It'd have prevented her from making a fool of herself by such historical inaccuracy.

"My bad.", she acknowledged to quickly move on. "But, if so, what would have mattered in another вор coming?"

"To tell the truth, almost nothing. Then it appeared it wasn't really a вор, but an ally to one of them. The little information on him was always conflicting: some said he was up to his fifties, while others claimed he was merely thirty-something. What did matter, though, was the lot of connections he seemed to have with FSB and military. If he managed to have these relations while making powerful воры his friends, he had to be a dangerous one."

"How come he _could_?"

Strictly speaking, the two-faced hadn't been bad at what he did, as FSB was none else than the KGB's post-Soviet name. It wasn't that relations between Russian mafia and whether intelligence, army or political people were unusual; but she knew he _was_ around thirty at the time. Yet she had to keep that for herself: Zukovsky would ask questions she had no interest to answer.

"For the first ones, I don't know. As for the воры… well, there was another rumor which practically nobody disputed – the mysterious newcomer being a Lienz Cossack."

"A… _Lienz Cossack_?", she repeated.

"Do you know about the Cossacks?"

"If you're speaking of the horse-mounted people who used to fight for the Czar, then yes."

"That's it. As having been persecuted in the early years of the USSR, a lot of them chose to fight along the Wehrmacht during World War II. After the defeat of Nazi Germany, its _First Cossack Cavalry Division_ surrendered to the British Army in Lienz,  Austria. They hoped to continue fighting against communists on the winners' side…"

She remained mute to let him finish, but something told her things didn't go that way... otherwise those Cossacks would have probably been better-known.

"…but were instead sent back to Stalin, to be all promptly executed."

"Damn, _tough fate._ "

The ending had been dead easy to foresee, even _logical_ to a certain extent, but she still meant her last line.

"Wait a minute, even assuming Janus was fifty ten years ago, he'd be born in 1956… Isn't that a little late to be a surviving Lienz Cossack?", she asked again, thinking the real date had to be even more nonsensical.

"Probably his father or grandfather was."

_'Good point_. _'_ It still gave the гад some credibility.

"And given that the воры have almost been eradicated too during the Soviet era, they wouldn't have minded at all having a Lienz Cossack double agent among the dinosaurs of the old Nomenklatura. Makes enough sense.", she concluded.

_"He... knows the meaning... of success...  
His needs... are more... so he gives less..."_

"How old are you exactly?", he asked with sudden curiosity.

"Finish your story and perhaps I'll tell you."

"Lucky you to have got me on my good side...", he said, designing the pile of money. "So, one day came when one of my competitors was found floating on the Neva with his throat cut. This was the quite striking way we were greeted by the one soon known as _Janus_. The very one that started at once building his empire by absorbing smaller groups first in Petersburg, then throughout the country."

The two-faced had the knack of introducing himself. He managed to show he was quick, stealthy and unpredictable in one neat killing. She could easily figure his plan: assassinating a carefully chosen influent mob leader, throwing the corpse into the river to show he was already in Piter and ready to crack some jaws, then establishing himself as the new leader thanks to money lent by the воры. Oh, and of course not forgetting to rename the gang acquired in such way the _Janus Syndicate_.

"His connections must have made it easier for him, but to have ruined my business like he did... It makes me sick."

"What do you mean in _ruined_? Doesn't he only focus on weapons?"

" _He does_ , to leave other activities he doesn't want to deal with to his vassals – drugs, counterfeiting, money laundering, prostitutes and so on." (He paused, having certainly seen her slight grit of the teeth.)  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing.", she dryly replied.

Zukovsky squinted, before eventually continuing:

"And then someone came to my old Petersburg club. Like you, he came without warning while promising a lot of money to be listened to. That was a British spy, asking about some stolen high-tech helicopter. I told him approximately the same things I've said to you, and apart from the meeting I've arranged between the two, all I know is that a few months later I had to flee before getting slain by Janus' gunmen."

She nodded quietly. At the time she entered the Syndicate, the two-faced was busy eliminating his rivals one by one, as though he needed to gain back a lost supremacy. _'A clash between the Janus Syndicate and British intelligence'_ , she remembered Scaramanga telling her. That was precisely what happened. And certainly violent enough to have wreaked havoc on the two-faced. _'Damn, I actually could have never met him...'_

"Who's the spy?"

Her interlocutor shook the head.

"I'm sorry again, but I won't tell _you_." (He interrupted her try to answer back.) "You claimed to know Scaramanga: send him to me, and I'll give the name. I want to be sure who I'm talking with."

It wasn't difficult to understand his demand: given how bad things turned out for the гад, she could be a mole instructed to find the guy responsible. As long as Zukovsky wouldn't ask for extra money or anything, she had no problem accepting.

"Fine... I'll send him to you."

"Ah? I didn't expect you to be so accommodating."

"The deal seems fair, but if I find out you've taken me for a ride... well I hope you're _still_ able to run fast.", she countered with the same taunting tone he used.

"I remember asking on your age.", he stated, pretending not to have heard.

"I turned twenty-eight last January. Close enough?"

"Yes, thank you. I knew you were fairly young for someone who knows so much."

_"They call... him the winner... who takes all...  
And he strikes... like Thunderball..."_


	15. Chapter 15

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter fifteen >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Icehouse, "Great Southern Land"_

_" Standing at the limit of an endless ocean…  
Stranded like a runaway… lost at sea…_

_Anyone will tell you… it's a prisoner island…  
Hidden in the summer for a million years…"_

_'Nick Nack, you're one hell of a cook_ _.'_ It was the only thing that occurred to her while she enjoyed her bite of Spanish-style cooked squids. The dish itself wasn't so difficult to make: it was only cleaned out tiny squids heated in a pan until their juice was almost evaporated. The real secret, actually, was all about the seasoning… but the _chef_ wouldn't give up that one.

Nick Nack was the very small man who handed her Scaramanga's message back in Saint Petersburg, the one with the distinctive French accent. All she knew on him came down to very little: he was Scaramanga's handyman, he was born in France of Filipino parents while his age was impossible to tell, and he only went by that strange nickname.

It didn't mean he couldn't be _chatty_ when not asked to speak about himself. Notably when knowing his interlocutor was a French speaker, so that he hadn't to twist his tongue on those English sounds he couldn't properly pronounce to be understood. Funny guy he was, anyway. Always well-groomed and continually appearing and disappearing: that's why he was currently far too busy to have a proper lunch, but it was rather comfortable given what was about to be discussed.

After having broken the ice with some small talk, Scaramanga indeed didn't wait anymore to get down to _business_ :

"Do you want to hear the last update of your tortuous adventure miss Morikawa?"

"Does it imply going to Miami?"

"It does. You're personally invited to meet Auric at his Floridian office."

 _'Thank God, at last!'_ After everything she had done – and a few extra days for Goldfinger to take Zukovsky's info in – , she finally was in a position to negotiate. Hence to seriously start drafting the plan for getting Jessi out of Piter.

"It'd still better be worth the endless journey.", she only declared, not wanting to reveal herself so soon.

"I think the worst part is behind you now. Consider yourself as a new full member to the team."

"The team... GoldenEye and Galore?"

"Easier to hide very little unregistered staff among a lot of officially recorded security people.", he only answered, sidestepping the issue of them being _outnumbered_.

_'A trigger-happy rogue, a phantom pilot and an oblivious sourpuss... one hell of a dream team.'_

"So technically we are mercenaries."

"You will have to get used to it: Auric is an industry owner above all things."

"None of my business. I'm only concerned about him abandoning us whenever he'll want."

"If you were so set on that security, then you should have stood by Janus."

"I'd be damned if I did. I won't get back to it.", she cut him off.

"Well, if it's any comfort to you, Jonathan and Kathrin are both fully aware of what you've just said. Although you really should take advantage of what Auric will be disposed on giving you... I think you also ought to know who your _real_ allies are."

 _'Oh yeah?_ _'_ She heard the same fancy words when they first met... but that time it was all about _joining_ Goldfinger. _' _What do you really seek from us three, uh?'__

"Well, I thought Goldfinger was yours.", she smugly stated.

"I support him only for what's in it for me, there's no secret of it."

He said it so casually that she stopped short of cracking up. Goldfinger had made a fuss about her being _reliable_ or not, and his closest ally – who hadn't even managed to convince him she was – now was saying to be able to back out _anytime_. To be that much laid back, either the guy was bluffing like mad to try lulling her, or had a _serious_ insurance policy.

"Something held against Dr. No?"

"The only thing I can tell you about it is that there are people much more powerful than him, Auric and me put together."

Here was his insurance. Certainly people he wanted to cozy up to in exchange of greater influence – thanks to what he didn't have to own a private army to be taken seriously. But then he seemed to have _personal_ interest in bringing GoldenEye together with her. Wasn't he already _safe_ enough? She kept it in the back of her mind. It sure didn't make much sense, but future would clarify things anyway.

"Alright... I don't want to be involved in anything shadier than what I'm already in."

"Wise of you."

 _"Listen to the motion of the wind in the mountains..._  
_Maybe you can hear them talking... like I do..._  
  
_"They're gonna betray you... they're gonna forget you..._  
_Are you gonna let them take you... over that way...?""_

While she was considering whether already finishing her squids or not, he had a sip of the wine Nick Nack had poured him at the start of the meal. When proposed a glass, she politely declined – the rare liquors she'd accept were champagne when she couldn't get any soft drink... and vodka on very _special_ occasions. The bottle was labeled _L'Ermita_ , of the year 2011. Probably a pricey Spanish wine, but she wasn't interested in asking more about it, even when deciding to make the squids last a little more.

"There's been something on my mind since I saw Zukovsky.", she started, watching out for his reaction. "At the one second I told him about you, he became amazingly _compliant_ … Have I missed something that much important on you?"

"What do you know about me, anyway?"

"The _Man with the Golden Gun_ nickname... and your first name being clearly Spanish. The rest is only speculation."

"That explains your question. I have to apologize here, as most people I talk with know my reputation I thought you did too. I'll make it short, then." (He had another sip.) "Originally, I was one of the many underpaid assassins trained in Eastern Europe by the dying KGB, for whom the collapse of the Soviet Union set up a totally new deal. The new Russian mafia needed hired guns, so I took my chance. When rumors began to credit me with efficiency, some people feared to be next in line..."

"…and you made a _killing_ in every possible way."

"Now _this_ was terrible.", he said, giving a slight head shake.

"Excuse me, I had to exorcize that one.", she admitted, a little guilty. "And eventually you got rich enough to have like… a golden gun?"

"Enough, yes. Which doesn't mean I had one.", he stated with some deliberate mystery. "Rumors, you know. Like you, I didn't choose my title. But I can't complain... at least it spread my name far and wide out of Russia. Otherwise I would neither have made my wealth, nor still be respected by old-timers like Zukovsky."

 _'It doesn't mean'_. The expression was totally giving away that the _golden gun_ did exist – but he would never recognize it. He had a personal _legend_ to keep alive… and had certainly been hurt enough to learn she didn't know. Still, funny thing that the two of them had quite a _similar_ story while they had nothing else in common.

"Oh, and one last thing.", he said after her nod of acknowledgement. "I'm Catalan more than Spanish."

So he also took great pride in his origins, _point taken_.

"Alright, Catalan… There's a big gap between Cataluña and Russia, isn't there?"

"I just made my way. As the saying goes, _travel broadens the mind_." (He slyly smiled again.) "How about the even bigger gap between Japan and Saint Petersburg?"

 _'Well done, goddammit. Well done.'_ To think he managed to beat her so easily at her own game… He had the knack of wresting everybody's little secrets out, yet he could be sure he'd never have anything on that one.

_"City on a rainy day... down in the harbor...  
Watching as the gray clouds shadow the bay..._

_Looking everywhere... 'cause I had to find you...  
This is not the way that I remember it here..."_

As she gave a nervous grin, Nick Nack used the pause in their conversation to pop up and bring the main dish. Some mixed local vegetables – carrots, bell peppers, bean sprouts, mushrooms, onions and snow peas were the easiest to recognize – and fragrant rice, which were surely to offset the outrageous import price of the beef fillet they accompanied. After just enough time to be thanked for his cooking, the Filipino had already vanished, going back to whatever he was up to.

"I made my way too.", she finally said.

"I figured, but the fact I can't fill the gap at all tickles my curiosity… if it isn't too indiscreet?"

"To be honest, it is."

"Ah, you are unfair to leave me wanting more. Particularly since it must be a captivating story."

He wouldn't let himself be pushed around that way, of course. Time to finally show her hand, hence.

"With such high expectations, you'd be disappointed. I've got something, though." (He looked at her, waiting for her development.) "I know another Janusian who'd like to join Goldfinger's side."

 _'Thus yours.'_ , she added for herself, also thanking Kathrin for the quite handy made-up word. Scaramanga, as for him, silently stared at her for some seconds, before taking a more abrupt tone than usual:

"You might have said it earlier."

"I was waiting to be in a position to be listened to. Took _time_.", she snapped back

"I see your point here: your renegade won't be easy to get."

She only shrugged: what did he expect?

"Let's put this aside. Build up your offer, you will be _carefully_ listened to."

"She's been my closest friend almost as long as I've been in Russia, which makes… well, ten years now." (She made a slight pause, surprised to realize it had been so long.) "During that time we've been through so much things together that we wouldn't even think of mistrusting each other."

"What about Janus? How did she get to enter his group?"

"Same story as mine. We were still wandering in Piter's streets in search of odd jobs for the local mafia when we overheard of a powerful group that needed extra hands. We've both been hired not long after. First for dirty jobs, but since we zealously did anything that could grant us more bucks, we gradually grew within the ranks.", she explained, trying to hold back any sensitive detail he'd immediately ask about.

"And even today you two have a comparable level of training?"

She was pleased to see he asked it with what she felt to be genuine interest. Actually, things might go up again if he or Goldfinger had it.

"Absolutely. When I couldn't be sent on something she was, and vice versa."

"Then she won't be easily expendable.", he stated, most likely thinking aloud.

"What do you mean?"

"I feared for a moment that Janus might have already killed her out of revenge."

"Far less expensive for him to tell her I didn't survive the OMEN… He's not the type who'd waste operatives for nothing."

 _'Particularly as knowing very well what I'm up to when it comes to her.',_ she thought, but it was too slippery of a topic to even mention it. Last time she had to deal with a similar issue, the гад scammed her so well that she was still seeking revenge for it… She wouldn't do the same mistakes, the first one being her interlocutor knowing either how she got in Russia, or where that score she had to settle came from. Those were things _someone_ knew all too well how to use.

"But she is still in St Petersburg, isn't she?"

"I think so, yes."

"So even if she wanted to... _avenge_ you, he wouldn't let her out of Russia."

"Or will only to use her as a bait. I know."

"I don't mean to offend you, but you already know how much Auric would be keen on taking a single risk for a potential enemy… and without his support a single move of yours towards Petersburg would be playing with fire."

"Then this is going to take ages…"

He had a slight wave of the head.

"Unless you make good use of another factor… your collaboration with Jonathan, for instance."

"Why would _he_ even care?", she asked with a shrug.

"It's not a question of caring, but rather of not being flawless. There's something with him you'll have to watch out for that makes him not as efficient as he would let believe."

Her eyes instantly opened wide. GoldenEye, _inefficient_? _Honestly?!_

"He's already a living war machine… What else do you want?"

"Now you're going to Miami, I think you'll figure very soon what I have in mind. He too doesn't like to have his secrets revealed, and I personally wouldn't be proud of that one."

"And you managed to learn about it all the same.", she noted.

Once again, he preferred to give a rather roundabout answer:

"Becoming a recognized counterpart to the _' _war machine'__ has been undoubtedly a great achievement in itself _._ Prove now that you're able to go beyond his limits, and there will be far less reluctance to pick up another one like you, even right under Janus' nose. That's why you should find out any little detail that might make things a lot easier for you... it's always very useful to be in the know."

He was a fine one to talk... She definitely needed to know more about the _business_ than what she currently did, and yet he had categorically refused to make any comment every single time she asked him about Goldfinger's real intentions behind having wasted a neutron bomb instead of simply protecting it from Doctor No's troops. What did it take to have him talk, throwing her knuckles right into his jaw?

"Alright, I'll remember it.", she only said, as she couldn't help but furtively stroke her finger joints.

_'Yeah, I'll remember it next time you'll shut your big mouth only because it suits you better, you smarmy tale-bearer.'_

"Good. Actually, I'll put to a word to Auric about your Russian friend… what's her name?"

"Jessika Pajari."              

"Fine, Jessika. I believe it's important to have him aware of her existence, just in case we find something to do with her." (She had an agreeing nod.) "Also I'll be meeting Zukovsky next week, so I'll keep you updated on that British spy thing."

"I'm sure he'll be wonderfully talkative with you.", she smirked.

" _Of course_ : I want to know the whole story."

"Me too… But I don't think we've got the same reasons."

 _"I hear the sound… of the stranger's voices…_  
_I see their hungry eyes… their hungry eyes…_  
  
_Great southern land… great southern land…_  
  
_You walk alone… with the ghost of time…"_


	16. Chapter 16

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter sixteen >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Tears for Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"_

_"Welcome to your life… there's no turning back…_  
_Even while we sleep… we will find you…_  
_Acting on your… best behavior…_

_Everybody wants to rule the world."_

The red booklet she had handed was rapidly flipped through, while the usual questions asked at US borders came down to only one:

"Is it your first time to the United States?"

"It is."

 _No_ , it wasn't. But last time the passport had a two-headed eagle in place of that pretty white cross.

"Well, I wish you a nice stay here.", the officer amiably said after a nod.

"Thank you sir."

She took the document back concealing her great relief. Everything looked in order as far as she was concerned, as much as the Swiss-Japanese IT analyst _Rei Clérian_ had everything of a _real_ person. Notably including a genuine Swiss passport, records in the country's databases, papers stating her eligibility to enter American soil and others testifying she really worked for _Auric Enterprises A.G._ , the Zürich-based metal trading company belonging to Goldfinger.

Getting all of these surely cost a fortune, but Goldfinger obviously didn't like doing things by halves.  The point was that after Las Vegas' events, security in American airports got even tighter than it used to be, so trying to get into the borders in complete illegality would have been far too risky… bribing the right persons isn't always that _simple_. So that her flight from Phuket taking a detour to Switzerland had been a necessary step to fully plan her transatlantic journey.

A moment after customs people went out, their blue van moved away, meaning the Dassault Falcon 900LX from Goldfinger's personal fleet was allowed to the General Aviation Center. As she could already see palm trees in the distance, she would have given anything to have Jessi with her in that very moment. Sin City was nice and all, but _this_ was the dream place for taking a ride in their silver Corvette with Jan Hammer's _Crockett's Theme_ playing in the background. _Miami, Florida_.

 _'Dammit Jessi, and I've promised you'd get out of the гад's claws.'_ It had been almost a month since she left Saint Petersburg, and she really didn't see any hope of keeping that promise... Scaramanga was still doubtful whether it was worth the bother, and there _naturally_ wasn't any word yet from Goldfinger.

For all that, there was one guy who silently listened to the whole thing, the sparse nods he gave showing that he paid close attention all along. He obviously didn't said much, except that he wasn't _able_ to help her – at least far less than the two others. Yet she guessed that even as wrapped up in his own personal vendetta as he was, he'd be ready to give her a hand... as soon as they'll get to really trust each other.

 _"It's my own desire... It's my own remorse..._  
_Help me to decide... Help me make the most..._  
_Of freedom... and of pleasure..."_

If there was one particular thing she'd never miss from Japan, it certainly had to be the hot and wet summers. Yet Thailand's were even worse. Late August there was absolutely unbearable, explaining her impatience to get once and for all out of the country. Miami might sadly be the same, but at least she would have a break before arriving in there, her next destination being Switzerland.

She had arrived in Bangkok earlier the same day and was still not getting why she hadn't directly departed from Phuket, but it wasn't really worth the care. The luxurious lounge of the Don Mueang Airport was opportunely sparing her from outside's sticky heat, and she had managed to find a proper French edition of William Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ to read – she hadn't been in the mood for trying to decipher the original text. Besides, François-Victor Hugo's translation was turning out to be even more delightful than her vague memories of it.

Every time someone entered or exited the room, she'd mechanically look up and glance at them. At one point though, she didn't lower the head straight back: even with the opaque pair of Ray-Ban Aviators and the darker tan, the face was easily _recognizable_. Here was the only reason why she wasn't flying to Europe. They exchanged a saluting nod, with him looking far less surprised than she was to cross her way again so soon. It reminded her an interesting quote: _'Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, the third time it's enemy action'._ All that remained was to find out how _enemy_ was the action.

Shortly after having moved closer he slightly lifted the book from her hands, taking a look at the cover. His only reaction was the raise of an unconvinced eyebrow she answered by an amused smile, and he then decided to sit just next to her. When he hung his shades off his collar, she noticed the two brown eyes instead of a single one. Pretty familiar _trick_ , but it was the very first time she saw him using it.

"Let me guess: Aksornpan?" (He nodded affirmatively.) "What have you done to _deserve_ him?"

He leant back, bringing his head close enough to hers for being heard while speaking in a low voice.

"The implant was on the brink of frying. Found out just in time."

"How the hell has _that_ happened?", she whispered back.

"With all the energy that piece of junk of a shield pumps, it's hard not to overload the whole system."

 _'Piece of junk'_? There was a nice ring of _disillusion_ to that one... last she remembered, he was overusing it rather wildly.

"Used it recently?"

"It worsens _whenever_ it's used."

She smirked. That wasn't totally answering the question, was it?

"At least the chip should be safe. As long as this one remains untouched, I'd be OK with anything."

" _The chip?_ ", he asked, before getting it by himself. "You mean, on the brain?"

"Yeah. There's not _many_ of those."

"He doesn't use them anymore. Implantations were hardly successful."

 _You lucky bastard,_ she bitterly thought. Waiting a few more months would have avoided her trepanation. If only she had had the _time_...

"Dammit. He never told me."

He had a nod, meaning: _'He wouldn't_. _'_ Of course, the wimp had understood he'd better not say anything she wouldn't want to hear ever since he got the nose smashed. She gave an annoyed shake of the head. _'The offensive moron will never get any better.'_

"And then? All fixed now?" (He shrugged: _'Kind of.'_ ) "So what's _that_ wrong with the shield, uh?"

"I'll tell you... But not here."

Being possibly overheard wasn't a valid option to him, he needed full privacy. _Fine_. They'd have _plenty_ of time ahead to discuss it anyway. As he was now slouching, hence closed to further communication, she took her book back. As it happened, the two-fa... ahem, _Macbeth_ , was freaking the hell out seeing his best friend's ghost – upon whom he had ordered murder, otherwise it wouldn't have been so hilarious.

 _"_ _Nothing ever... lasts forever..._

_Everybody wants to rule the world."_

Her vision of air travel had drastically changed over the past few weeks. She didn't count her flight hours anymore, as much as she got quite used to having the jets' crew members as sole company. Sometimes she'd chat with them to pass time; others, she'd watch more movies than she ever had time to watch. Or, still _incredibly_ enough, she'd manage to have a peaceful sleep.

Having another presence in the cabin hence seemed to have become an exceptional feat... yet, in her case, more of an _awkward_ one. Back in Don Mueang, she felt much more at ease with GoldenEye's lack of talkativeness than Scaramanga's love for his own volubility, but here, when they had been politely left alone by the crew... the easiness shattered no sooner.

Janus terrified her, but she exactly knew why. Scaramanga talked too much, but in a sense was predictable. As for _him_... he was of those she just couldn't get the hang of. Each time he stared at her she was on alert, not knowing what to expect from it. She had to break the silence, he wouldn't do it himself. Unless she wanted the journey to last much _longer_ than it actually did.

"Now, the shield?", she ventured, trying her best to remain natural.

He was sitting on the couch facing her regular seat, the hands crossed behind his head. After having taken a look at the front of the cabin, visibly to check nobody stood there, he nodded her to come up. When she did so, he pushed some of his scruffy hair aside, revealing a narrow reddish scar on the left of his forehead.

"Does it remind you of something?"

Oh yeah it did: how the crazy story of theirs began. _Hong Kong._

"Thought it struck here.", she stated, pointing to the center of his brow.

"One second longer of hesitation and it'd have."

Finally she could understand what really happened that night. Just after he found out there was no sniper rifle in the case he came for, he might have had enough suspicion – or heard the gunshot, a suppressor being mostly effective for hiding the muzzle flash, _not_ stifling the sound – to activate the shield. During that time, the bullet certainly came too close for being fully deflected, and scraped his head all the same. Given the caliber and the way he crumpled, the blow had to have been _hurtful_. But that's how he survived without her missing her shot.

"In Vegas you had always that thing ready. Shouldn't happen again."

"Right.", he said with a quickly repressed frown.

His tone wasn't so assertive when he said it. _'There's a chink in your armor, Golden. Perhaps something connected to what Scaramanga teased me about.'_

"Anyway, you didn't _spare_ me either.", she moved on.

"That's why we're square on that one."

Alright, this was pretty good news. Although he wasn't totally putting up with the way he had been swindled by the Triads, he wouldn't bring again the fight to her. If it wasn't the case... she'd have been in rather _big_ trouble.

She quietly came back to her seat, gazed once again by his watchful eye. _'Stop it, damn you.'_ Even though his eyeballs were both natural-looking she wasn't far from losing it. _'Say anything for God's sake, but don't get creepier than the гад himself!'_

"By the way... didn't have any company when visiting Aksornpan?"

"Hm?" (He suddenly understood.) "No."

He had already taken back an impassive face. _'Oh gosh... Pal, you're not making this easy_. _'_

"Those bikers chasing you were sent by Dr. No, right?" (He had a confirming nod.) "Then why did nobody yell at me for having helped you?"

"Strange. Didn't you know it was me?"

"Not at all. I just believed unfair that one guy had to fight alone against three armed people."

She felt some surprise in his eyes at this confession.

"Perhaps they thought useless to say anything. As you weren't aware.", he simply said.

"Even so, Janus must have been ticked off to have me messing around again."

"Why _again_?"

"I failed taking you out, remember?"

" _Oh_." (He certainly never saw things that way.) "Well, I guess their plans have backfired at some point."

" _Backfired_? You bet!", she chuckled.

For once he displayed a warm smile, and even _continued_ :

"I was wondering, your bike... it's the '09 model?"

"Yep."

"The limited edition, so. Very nice one."

"Thanks."

This start of a conversation didn't get any further, but it did a nice job at slightly loosening up the atmosphere. Only slightly, yes, but enough for giving some rest to her mind.

_"So glad... we've almost made it...  
So sad... they had to fade it..._

_Everybody wants to rule the world."_

They went out as soon as the Falcon's engines turned off, leaving behind the two Auric Enterprises board members they shared the flight with. They barely spoke to those hot shots in the whole journey, as they were clearly interfering with the latter's usual privacy, and rather sat again at the back of the cabin. She watched movies on a provided iPad, while he alternatively looked at his own smartphone, remained idle... or took a look at what she was watching, not turning down her proposal to share earphones when he was interested enough. He seemed to have enjoyed the latest _Mad Max_ installment, _incidentally_.

The stay in Zürich lasted only for the time of doing all the paperwork she needed. The urging of keeping these safe was rather self-evident, as it had been a decade since her real identity went missing in official records. Also, the name was of her own choice, _Rei_ being a common Japanese first name – she particularly liked the spelling '霊' ( _spirit_ ) – and _Clérian_ her mother's maiden name.

 _Golden_ – she wasn't acquainted enough with him to use his first name, yet wouldn't call him by his last one anymore – wouldn't ever face the same issue. He indeed juggled multiple passports according to his needs, and the two of them were _absolutely_ genuine. For obvious reasons he didn't show too often the British one... but when the other happens to be American, one wouldn't mind.

Asking for it provided her some interesting little facts: a younger look matching the very first portrait she saw of him, the short cropped hair suggesting he was still serving in the British army at the time; a date of birth, _'October 25 th, 1985'_; and a birthplace that casted strong doubts of hers on the paper's authenticity, _'Florida, U.S.A.'_. _'Pure coincidence'_ , he said: last he heard, his mother was still living in Orlando.

She followed him to the small terminal, heading for the exit. Walking in a non-crowded airport was something both very unusual at first, and somehow comforting to the ego, as if she was so much of an _important_ person that the place was virtually all hers.

When they stepped out of the building, it didn't take much time for her to understand what they were looking for. The yellow Daytona was parked here, having made its way back from Thailand even before them.

"Wait, do I need an helmet?"

He was putting on his, the signature black and yellow motocross one, just retrieved from the terminal's locker room where it had purposely been left.

"Over twenty-one?"

She shrugged at the stupid question.

"Put on a jacket if you have, and we're gone."

_"All for freedom... and for pleasure...  
Nothing ever... last forever..._

_Everybody wants to rule the world."_


	17. Chapter 17

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter seventeen >>>>>_

_ >>>>> The Who, "Eminence Front"_

_"_ _The sun shines… and people forget._

_The spray flies… as the speedboat glides…  
And people forget… forget they're hiding."_

Tearing down Interstate 195, the Daytona now was crossing Biscayne Bay, the only natural barrier that could have prevented it from making its way to mainland. With Golden's very own notion of speed limits, the goal would be reached in less time than necessary to really appreciate the skyline, still the latter managed to divert her mind from the anxiety of not being the actual rider. Hence to make her _hang_ onto him with far more ease than she'd consciously have, but she wouldn't realize it that soon.

While Goldfinger's _'Floridian office'_ , to use Scaramanga's wording, was located in Downtown Miami, its real estate development activities permitted to give each of its owner's now three enforcers a pad in one of the most recent condominiums built in Miami Beach – which, to her great surprise, was a city in itself. That's where GoldenEye left her just after their arrival, to let her discover what would be her new place.

It wasn't that large, but bright and well laid out as it was she wouldn't have needed more. Comparatively, the small apartment in the Kirovsky district where Jessi and her used to live until very recently was wretched in every aspect, yet this one hadn't enough _history_ to be as sheltering. As for now the only personal thing it had was the Sony cassette player, already sitting on the open kitchen's counter and tuned in to _102.7 The Beach –_ a local station playing classic 80s hits. Still a good first step towards feeling _at home_.

What Golden did in the whole afternoon after leaving her, she didn't know. The only thing certain was that he showed up the morning after with not totally wrong sized basic helmet and biker gloves, saying that Goldfinger was waiting for them. So here they were, riding two-up again. Funny thing, though, that someone as _reckless_ as him had such particular care regarding motorcycle gear.

She leant with him as he moved the bike to the right lane. The exit sign announced _Biscayne Blvd_ , a large straight road they would actually ride down for four kilometers. Once again, the scenery here was nothing like what she was used to back in Piter: instead of scarce modern towers like the Tretyak headquarters among wide concrete blocks, everything was high, bright, relatively new… and palm trees were _absolutely_ everywhere.

Buildings gradually grew higher on the road to Downtown, yet the Daytona didn't reach any of the latter's steel and glass giants. Instead it briskly slowed down as entering into a narrower way, to then overtake a sightseeing bus without any mind for the solid line. Around was a ritzy area, with numerous trees, perfectly mowed lawn and quite a few people around. Given the direction they had taken, it also had to be bordering the sea. _'Dammit, tell me that's not a tourist zone.'_

Her fears were realized as soon as she saw the name of the red building they went along before reaching again the shore: _Bayside Marketplace_. The two of them were up to the eyeballs in Las Vegas' mess, and Goldfinger – besides having brought them back into the States – wanted to meet them in a goddamned _mall_. _'What's next, calling the spooks to join in the party?'_

As she saw masts a little further away and they kept moving, she understood they wouldn't step into that mall but rather into the adjacent marina. A little better, still not _discreet_ enough. If the meeting had to be in daylight, why not in a _secure_ , closed building?

She brewed over it until Golden stopped to give no less than five dollars to the employee stationing at the entrance of the marina's car park. Perhaps sitting like this guy under a sunshade all day long would have been the best way to remain out of troubles. There was a great view on Downtown, and she would have just had to put earphones on when in need of synth vibes. A shame it couldn't be that simple.

_"Come and join the party…  
Dress to kill…_

_Won't you come and join the party…?  
Dress to kill. Dress to kill…"_

They went walking on the wooden docks after having swapped their helmets for sunglasses, more because the blazing sun required it than as _neither_ of them had their lenses. A great collection of crafts was anchored there; most had sails but some had motors as well, among them a few of the biggest ones. The yacht they got to incidentally pertained to the latter category. A quite well-rounded, all gleaming white Azimut Grande 95, featuring a nice vector hawk crowned by a solar disk: the _Bik Nebu Hedj_. Someone leaning on its upper deck waved at them, confirming this was the vessel they were looking for.

"That guy up there, he knows you?", she asked, stepping up the narrow boarding ramp.

"At least it ain't the first time he sees me around. That's Manuel, the pilot."

When reaching the aft deck she first saw the burly Asian man standing there, as though waiting for them. The black suit, very short hair and steel eyes reminded her too much of yakuza henchmen, but his build was more likely to be of a former athlete, and the wrinkles about his eyes indicated he was more than forty years old. Neither he or Golden said a single word, rather giving away a particular dislike for each other. Goldfinger had to appreciate close-mouthed people; except for their respective sizes, the Asian being a little shorter than her, those two were strikingly similar.

In fact, the only difference was that the guy didn't seem to like her face either. She didn't react at all to his hostile stare, as all she wanted right now was meeting the overprotected boss of theirs, not getting into whatever was between them. Meanwhile, an Afro-Latino dude she identified as _Manuel_ briefly came to fold up the ramp, giving her a nice smile she echoed. At least somebody here knew how to welcome people.

"Ah, my guests.", a voice above them said at some point. " _Oddjob_ , would you mind…?"

The stocky guy didn't even wait for the end of the question to disappear back inside. _'Oddjob'_. If giving weird monikers to Asian underlings was the tradition, _SilverEye_ would be irritating enough as far as she was concerned. She slowly turned to the newcomer stepping down from the upper deck: a plump Caucasian with far too blonde hair for his age, who tried to hide badly sunburned arms under a long sleeved Italian shirt. Someone whose reek of money was made worse by the sophisticated cologne.

"Mister Hunter." (That one crossed arms while returning the greeting nod.) "And… Miss Morikawa, I presume?"

"Herself."

"Welcome to Miami.", Goldfinger smugly said when they shook hands. "Do you enjoy your time here?"

"Temperatures are higher than I expected, but I've survived quite well so far."

"Good. Maybe would you like a drink before we get underway, to keep… _surviving_?"

Her smile to this might have been a little too phony, but in a setting that would have fit so well an eighties TV show she just couldn't help but _acting_ accordingly.

"Now that you ask so nicely _,_ that'd be perfect indeed. Thanks."

_"Drinks flow… people forget._

_That big wheel spins… the hair thins…  
People forget… forget they're hiding."_

They were now out on the open sea, having left the marina about half an hour ago. She never had any particular affinity for anything related to the sea; yet, even though the view was a little too repetitive to her liking, chilling out in a white fine leather sofa on a luxury yacht while sipping fresh-squeezed Florida oranges was a definitely _pleasant_ experience.

Golden was silently slouching just next to her with his Ray-Bans still on. As he definitely wasn't a man of great fancy, the only extravagant thing about his _Jack Daniel's_ was to be on ice in scorching heat. A guilty pleasure of his, presumably. At least he wasn't so much of a stereotypical _real man_ to have it straight up.

Goldfinger, posing as a _good_ host, was instead facing them with a really nice-looking _Rum Runner_. The conversation he started had quickly settled into one of his recent building projects, namely another hotel on the coast of Fort Lauderdale. All she had done so far was vaguely showing interest: she wasn't really captivated by real estate, and to be honest he wasn't engaging enough to pretend to.

Hard to tell what made her think so, still she guessed the more he'd keep talking the more she'd be able to get it. His money gave him obvious self-importance and a tendency to look down upon people under him, but Scaramanga, Janus, Aksornpan and even Zukovsky all had the same trait in their own way. That one had something else that had already started to get on her nerves.

"Seems a nice project. I see that the business is really working for you.", she stated to bring forward a conclusion to that topic.

"Glad to hear you say it.", he replied with an even strengthened smarm.

"But we're quite far away from Switzerland.", she said, seeking his reaction.

"Florida has a lot to offer: sunshine, azure waters, vivid neighborhoods, lively late nights, a fertile ground for my activities… and I guess it's also a perfect place to stay in for young people like you."

"Right… particularly for a Floridian native.", she slyly said while her brief side look was met by a disapproving _'tsk'_ from Golden. 

"Oh, so you've found out about it.", Goldfinger noted before a slight pause. "As for your insinuations, keep in mind that Auric Enterprises has grown enough to run on its own while I'm handling other business."

She already knew everything he handled wasn't innocent, so his defensiveness here was interesting. More than just not letting her get away with the sarcasm, he was doing everything possible to set  them apart from him. They were the last people he wanted to be seen with, and that meant two things. First, they wouldn't meet him often – and if ever, it'd likely be on that yacht again, well out of sight. Second: although he was playing bossy-boots now, they actually had _leverage_ over him. Always a good thing to know when someone doesn't totally inspire confidence.

"If you say so. What about the business that involves employing four _unregistered_ people?"

He had a slight smile that only worsened her concern with him.

"I count only three… you included."

"Your man, _Oddjob,_ looks much like a fourth one nobody told me about."

"That's because he's my personal bodyguard. Still makes three."

 _Set apart_. Once again. But it wasn't exceptional enough to explain why he was getting so unpleasant to her. Then she caught his eye on her. Fortunately nothing like the two-faced mentally undressing her, but the feeling was quite weird all the same. She took a puzzled look down at the cotton red and black varsity jacket she wore, to then see the unmistakable grin he gave when she looked him back.

Suddenly Golden's choice that particular day of a sleek Hugo Boss sport coat and a shirt instead of his more customary dark jacket and Henley made utter sense. Goldfinger was too snooty to even _bear_ such casualness, and perhaps even _worthlessness,_ of style. Bad luck for him, she wouldn't give a damn about what he could think of her appearance. However, as he didn't have the guts to say it as openly as he made it understood, she needed to impress on him that he'd better cut it out. _'Let's drop the kid gloves, Tubby, shall we?'_

She slowly took her Thai-made counterfeit Wayfarers off, then folded them with unveiled satisfaction when noticing that her heterochromia did briefly intimidate him.

"Well Goldfinger, I've already done much for you. Now let me ask you one simple question: where's my payoff?"

_"Behind an eminence front…  
An eminence front… it's a put on…_

_It's just an eminence front…  
An eminence front… it's a put on."_


	18. Chapter 18

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter eighteen >>>>>_

_ >>>>> _ _U2, "Seconds"_

 _"It takes a second to say goodbye…  
Say goodbye… oh, oh, oh…_ _"_

Another smile from Goldfinger, yet less cordial than the previous ones. He had got the _message_ very well, as confirmed by the blunt answer he gave:

"I am sorry, but rescuing your Russian friend _isn't on top_ of my list of priorities."

_'Of course it isn't, fat stuff. At last you stopped beating around the bush and came out with it.'_

"I expected it; you don't want a frontal assault with Janus, and honestly neither do I. I was thinking of the word _'pay'_ in a more literal sense."

He squinted even less cordially at this.

"I thought you to be a little more _subtle_ than that."

"If I do all the work not to receive the due reward, I may become ferocious… neither Oddjob nor _that one_ would prevent me from busting you up.", she stated, pointing her thumb at an unmoving Golden.

"Oh, I take your word for it. I heard Mr. Aksornpan had trouble with _glass shards_ not so long ago."

He wouldn't like to get his expensive white shirt ruined by blood and glass scrap, _would he_?

"That's one fine example indeed. Failing subtlety, I can still get creative."

"Save yourself the bother.", he said, the smug look suddenly back on his face. "Seventy thousand dollars and a half as for now, to be doubled when you'll have made enough significant progress. All has already been deposited at the Capital Union Bank under your name. The only thing left for you is to spend as you like… what do you think?"

 _One hundred fifty_ grand. While he had given another hundred to Zukovsky and lost further ones from the Midas… either she wouldn't see a penny of it, or there was an aberration she wasn't yet aware of. Judging by how everything played out until then, odds were sadly stacked against her not getting the money.

"Not bad. You seem to have the hang of this game."

"I've been working long enough with people like you to know the fundamental rule: _short reckonings make long friends_."

 _'Long enough'_ … not so surprising coming from that guy.

"That's quite right, actually.", she acknowledged. "That… _Capital Union Bank_ , where is it located?"

"In Nassau. Why?"

The Bahamas, _naturally_. Where else could he have been granted total _bank_ _secrecy_?

"Only to know.", she answered while having an inward chuckle at the thought.

He'd better not to use that money as an excuse for making a fuss about anything she'd buy later on, but he should have grasped it by now. Maybe was it the reason why he preferred not to surround himself with big mouths, by the way.

"Well, then I guess there's one final point to make."

"All right, let's have it.", he said, joining hands.

"What was this big deal with the OMEN?"

The million dollar question no one wanted to hear about. First there had been Scaramanga not bothering to answer it himself, and now there was Goldfinger looking as though he didn't understand. He wouldn't get her on it: once again, everybody but her knew the score. Yet he wouldn't be the first one to speak. She neither, incidentally. Golden would, the tone of his voice already announcing the awaited _aberration_.

"I ain't sure if knowing will do you any good."

_'Dammit… If I have to hear this from you, then it's going to hurt bad.'_

"Pal, you're scaring me here.", she said, raising the eyebrows.

"Maybe should you first set out what you understood so far, because I can't figure why such a question.", Goldfinger went on.

"The only thing I've understood for sure is that I blew a goddamned neutron bomb. Why having killed all these people instead of moving the device somewhere else, sorry but I don't get it. No wasn't even there… Seriously, what was the _point_?"

Golden put his half-drank bourbon down after having taken a sip, to sit _forward and rest_ his elbows on the table.

"Do you really want to know?", he asked, his tone even more unsettling.

"You are indeed missing out on a crucial detail… but I can imagine that being told _only now_ may shake you up.", Goldfinger added when she glanced at him, hardly hiding a slight snide grin.

 _Perhaps_ , but she was too deep in it to put on blinders. Whether she'd like it or not, she needed to be _in the know._ Displeased by how she had just been walked over, she hence turned back to Golden.

"Well pal, you know what has to be done.", she stated with apprehension. "Go on, _shoot_."

"The OMEN has been designed to be reusable. It's currently under repair and will be operational again as soon as its core is refueled."

Her only reaction was lowering her head into her hand, her fingers squeezing her temples as she burst into nervous laughter. _'I'm gonna wreck them all so hard… so hard…'_

 _"It takes a second to say goodbye…_  
_Say goodbye… oh, oh, oh…_  
_Say bye bye…_

_Where are you going to now…?"_

She actually managed to hold herself back, but her thoughts were refusing to be gathered. Why hadn't he said it straightaway? _'There is a neutron bomb in there.'_ , she could remember the line clearly. Would have it been so hard to add _'reusable'_ , or anything…? Was it to avoid driving her mad? _'No way!'_ He mostly didn't trust her enough, and even considering it was what he wanted, not only he had failed multiple times already but unloading it _afterwards_ was also of the worst ideas he could have had.

"At least you've the courtesy of being concise. Thanks."

Anyway, her real issue was to have set the thing off. Bringing it up again after having almost ceased to think about it was pointless and self-justifying. Damage was done and would have been done; it was already part of the past. One of the surest things she knew was that past _couldn't_ be changed.

"So the OMEN is still on duty. Great."

However, _'reusable'_ meant that such events could happen again. She wouldn't be the only one to push the button… just the _first_ one. _'Beat that for an achievement'_ … No, she had to think to something else. If she either continued to remain silent or started to vent everything, fat stuff Goldfinger would take her for a wimp and treat her accordingly. She had endured Janus, goddammit! That one should never be his successor.

"After all, choosing to test it in your own casino is your concern. Meanwhile intelligence buzz around to save honor and _that_ 's what my concern is all about.", she finally declared in a try to discard any attempt of hers at coming back to it.

"Count on them never finding evidence against us.", Goldfinger firmly asserted.

 _'Well, well_. _'_ How self-confident _this_ was.

"There was smartphone footage shown on TV. Let's imagine someone who miraculously escaped the blast radius. They want to show the world how great and reckless a photographer they are, and they share on Instagram or whatever what happens to be a snap of our pretty faces…  you know as well as me what'd be next, don't you?"

She extended the thumb of her closed fist in a quick, sharp cut-throat gesture to accompany her words. But he remained as confident as ever.

"You needn't worry. In the off chance they exist, if such pictures were found I would be of the first informed."

She couldn't repress a snort at it.

"How so, by growing a Big Brother mustache?"

"Ask the one who's actually on it, but I'd rather bet on his people having combed through a great deal of data in recent weeks.", he answered, clearly determined to counter her. "Nothing has been found so far, if it still upsets you."

"Good news. Who's the great overseer?"

"One of my stalwart stockholders. His name is Elliot Carver."

That name… she knew it to be famous. Then she remembered where she had heard it in the first place:

" _Carver_ … _Carver,_ as in _'Carver Media Group Network'_?"

"Precisely. I even own shares in that very group."

He was saying it as though his money was the strongest guarantee of his credibility; but this was far from being the point here as _Carver Media Group Network_ could be shortened into _CMGN_. The same news channels that kept harping on about the events and their aftermath.

Aside from TV, there also was a bunch of magazines, websites and social media accounts more or less directly related to the said group, and Carver was recognized as one of the most influent media moguls of the decade. With all the dough the latter had to have made with the story, Goldfinger could be sure to have a very powerful friend on his side.

"I guess he owes it to you… removing compromising information. Let alone that it's in his best interest to keep his own name out of it."

"That's right. He has been very grateful to me for allowing him the exclusive and has proved it remarkably thus far."

He basically had sold Hiroshima's bombing to Carver so that the later could spike his ratings, and _she_ was the one that had to shut up… Despite how that single thought turned her stomach, she knew fighting against him about it wouldn't move things along. She wasn't ready at all to have him brushing it off as nothing more than some _cultural divide_.

To take some of the heat off, she drank some orange juice, but it only resulted in aggravating the insidious bitterness it had progressively gained during the conversation. _'I do hope for you that you'll really give me the money. At least it should make the proverbial pill a little easier to swallow.'_

_"Lightning flashes across the sky…  
East to west… do or die…_

_Like a thief… in the night…  
See the world by candlelight…"_

Oddly it was at this point that Goldfinger began justifying himself. Maybe her earlier maniac laughing had finally convinced him her back needed a little scratching. Her usual judgment on justifying oneself had it that it was the best way to get bogged down, but she didn't give a damn anymore. The man could use nuclear power on a whim; he had already dug his grave deep enough for never getting out.

"You seem to have an issue with having used the OMEN in the Midas, but it's all very simple actually: when such a place is blown up, chances of the owner being considered responsible are fairly slim. On the other hand, with everything that has been revealed via CMGN, if Dr. No tries again to break through the American border he will be shot on sight."

She raised an eyebrow.

"So… this was all about keeping him away from the US? Sounds a bit extreme to me."

"If it hadn't been done, you wouldn't sit here without being already targeted by some lone shooter."

"Personally I'd drop the _'already'_. Aren't we a long way from Hong Kong?"

"We are, but not from Cuba."

If he was telling her he wanted to kick No out of the US while the latter operated in such a close place as _Cuba_ , she wouldn't be able to hold herself anymore…

"Shortly prior to the attack on my casino, we've identified a cargo ship owned by No departing from the southern end of the island. What it did there is a mystery, all we know is that it vanished as soon as it hit international waters.", he added, having visibly noticed her frown.

Thank goodness he wasn't that stupid. The doctor managed to sneak in and out of the Caribbean almost undetected, and that might explain how his men could enter American soil so easily. But aside from this the place somehow rang a bell, hence she decided to buy time for trying to remember why.

"Now I can understand that he had to be kept at bay, but shouldn't he have foreseen the move?"

"His attention may have been too taken up by the opportunity of quickly obtaining the OMEN rather than by considering all the possibilities."

He was hiding something, no doubt. Yet after all the rubbish she had heard, make a moron out of No almost was _constructive_. Moreover he wasn't all wrong about it; the doctor would now have to think twice before sending anyone in Miami, which was quite a good thing. That's how she managed to take it easy enough to play into it;

"Perhaps is he jealous not to have developed it himself?"

"This is entirely possible. He is arrogant enough for it."

"Hence he fell for it... I guess everybody has weaknesses, right?" Goldfinger had a confirming smirk as he finished the remaining of his Rum Runner, just as her memories finally came back to her. "I think I've got a little tip for you. Your phantom ship… I'd bet it sailed to Cuba to get supplied with weapons. There used to be a branch of the Syndicate located there; officially it's been abandoned for years, but I guess Janus wouldn't have minded to make an exception for a good customer."

She had nothing to lose in unloading it right away. Particularly as it had the desired effect; interesting the fat stuff enough to stare at her as though she suddenly had a spark of smarts rather than like she were just a badly dressed psycho.

"Well, now isn't that an interesting development? Since he and Janus already aren't in the best of terms, a compromised transaction could dissolve what's left of their alliance… and having his weapon supply blocked would seriously knock No back." He suddenly turned to Golden. "Your thoughts, Mr. Hunter?"

The concerned party gave a slight wave of the head, probably interpretable as annoyance to be pulled away from his unfathomable thoughts.

"Better use that to get inside the Octopus."

" _The Octopus?_ ", Kaiko asked.

"A private island off the coast of Cape Verde. On the surface it presents itself to visitors as a luxury resort, but underwater lies a sprawling facility that has been No's primary base of operations for years."

"The place has enough firepower to shoot anyone down kilometers away, that's why we can't just rush in. Problem is, we don't know when the boat will come back and we can still miss it. So unless the jerk doctor pops head out by himself, best chance remains to find a bait.", Golden added after Goldfinger's explanation, qualifying the latter's enthusiasm.

Even though his eyes were invisible behind the shades, feeling him casting a gaze at her after he said that flipped her out right away.

"Look pal, you'd better not think of me as the bait."

His answer came out peaceful, simple and precise.

"Janus."

She had a brief wavering as instantly cooling down. How come had she been stirred up by so little? Of course, _Janus_.

"When will I get to know the spy's name?"

"In no time now.", Goldfinger said with connivance, only met by an acknowledging nod.

Taking a look alternatively at them two, he chose to finally close the discussion as they remained silent.

"Well, if you don't mind, maybe should we wind up a little. It would be a shame not to enjoy such a gorgeous weather, don't you agree?"

They glanced at each other for some seconds, once again without a word. Golden moved first, grabbing the nearby bottle to pour himself another Jack Daniel's. She had a slight grin, deciding to put her Wayfarers back on, then settle more comfortably into the sofa. _'Right, Tubby. Let's enjoy the sunshine.'_

_"It takes a second to say goodbye…  
Say goodbye… oh, oh, oh…_

_Push the button and pull the plug…  
Say goodbye… oh, oh, oh…"_


	19. Chapter 19

_> Playlist paused.  >>>>> Chapter nineteen >>>>>_

 

"Привет, Япошка. Ты нас помнишь?" (Privet, Yaposhka. Ty nas pomnish'?, _Hi Jap. Do you remember us?_ )

She vaguely recognized the voice as one she hadn't heard in years. She was still half stunned, so finishing to open the eyes took forever. Her stiff neck didn't help, and making out clear shapes was impossible at first. However one thing was crystal clear; _that_ word, _'Япошка'_. A nickname that triggered all her old, unmentionable memories.  Now that she could understand it actually was a racial slur, hearing it again was more infuriating than ever.

"Да." (Da., _Yes_.)

Not that she could already say whom of the people who used to call her that way had spoken. The point was, such people weren't that _many_.

She felt other presences around. At least of two or three men. She tried to move her limbs, but quickly understood she was tied up to a chair. _'Dammit.'_

"Ты сделала большие успехи, Япошка. Наконец ты выучила одно слово по-русски." (Ty sdelala bol'shiye uspekhi, Yaposhka. Nakonets ty vyuchila odno slovo po-russki _._ , _You've made great progress Jap. Finally you've learned one word of Russian_.)

 _Oh yes._ She eventually identified the speaker. The traits she discerned so far matched the voice. There were some new elements about him, though. She could understand what he was saying, knew both his full name and position. _Yuly Petrovich Karavayev._ Someone who happened to be a powerful вор of Moscow. Someone she had been sent to kill… but who came down on her as soon as she set a single foot on his land.

"Не называй меня так, сволочь." (Ne nazyvay menya tak, svoloch', _Don't call me that, you bastard.)_ , she dryly countered.

He brutally pinched her cheeks, his tattooed thumb and index finger drilling into them even harder when she tilted her head back.

"Кажется ты забыла, кто здесь главный. Буду называть тебя, как захочу." (Kazhetsya ty zabyla, kto zdes' glavnyy. Budu nazyvat' tebya, kak zakhochu., _It seems you've forgotten who's the boss here._ _I'll call you whatever I want._ )

She struggled against his grip, managing to look at him straight into the eyes. He gave a smile, meaning he was in no way impressed. He might have changed a little his clothing style, having added a waistcoat under his two-piece suit, but his rat face remained the same. The short forehead, shaved hair and dark-ringed eyes were so familiar that she hardly noticed he had wrinkles and a scar on the eyebrow she was unused to.

"А теперь скажи мне, чё ты такая худая? Было так сложно найти кого-то, кто бы тебя накормил?" (A teper' skazhi mne, cho ty takaya khudaya? Bylo tak slozhno nayti kogo-to, kto by tebya nakormil?, _Now tell me; why are you so skinny? Was it so hard to find someone to feed you?_ )

He had released his grab, and several of the others were cracking up as though it was a really good joke. She didn't mind to be called skinny and was relieved not to have been busted as a Syndicate operative, so what really made her frantic was the innuendo she had just been tossed. The reason why those bastards laughed so hard; her still being the goddamned _pillow_ they made out of her so long ago. Should she manage to break free, likely this was going to be the only hit she'd actually _enjoy_ carrying out.

"Для тебя это точно было проще." (Dlya tebya eto tochno bylo proshche., _For you it definitely was easier._ ), she calmly answered with a twisted grin.

All she got for it was a harsh slap. As she put up with the pain, Karavayev took a soft voice, yet all the more menacing.

"Неверный ответ, Япошка." (Nevernyy otvet, Yaposhka., _Wrong answer, Jap._ ), he said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

At this point, she didn't find a better provocation than shrugging. She was consequently grabbed by her hair, this time not for a slap but a bash straight into her jaw – leaving her spasming in response. Not even from him as he was standing sideways, yet she guessed he gave the cue for it. She looked at the blond-haired guy bending over her, his gunmetal blue eyes flashing with anger. The only name she remembered his fellows calling him was the diminutive ' _Ilyusha'._ Apparently, he still was the hothead who whacks even before saying _'hello'_.

"Ты пришила Павел. Пора мстить, тупая падла!" (Ty prishila Pavel. Pora mstit', tupaya padla!, _You gunned down Pavel. Time for revenge, stupid bitch!_ ), _Ilyusha_ spat out at her face, while she winced at the taste of blood from her mouth.

 _Pavel_ … so that was how the dude was named. All had happened so fast that she couldn't remember the exact events. Just the gunshot, then the weapon slipping from her hands as she had hurried to escape. Perhaps was he a friend to Ilyusha, judging from the latter's fury. Incidentally, he didn't wait for a comeback of hers to turn to the rest of the group.

"Что же мы будем с ней делать, чуваки?" (Chto zhe my budem s ney delat', chuvaki?, _What the heck are we gonna do to her, guys?_ )

The one who immediately answered was of the last she wanted to see again. From the various diminutives of the name _'Vadim'_ , the one he was called was as unceremonious as his character would have required; _'Vadka'_. The guy was emaciated, always wearing a tank top for keeping his heavily tattooed arms visible to all and toying with his beloved trench knife. For once he hadn't already drawn the shank from his belt, but his nasal voice alone was enough to remind her of his noxiousness.

"Можно сделать так же, как и якудза." (Mozhno sdelat' tak zhe, kak i yakudza., _We can do the same as the yakuzas._ )

The worst here was that she perfectly understood what he meant. As she gradually acknowledged the knots around her wrists and ankles were too tight for her to work way out of this chair, her self-confidence started to shatter; it wouldn't be long until it was entirely flooded by fear.

"Заставить её себе палец отрезать." (Zastavit' yeyo sebe palets otrezat'., _Forcing her to cut off her own finger._ ), he gladly explained to the others all the same.

Her pulse instantly started racing. It was so very _logical_ ; she had to lose something in the process, and it had to be something she'd terribly miss. As obvious as it was, she kept vainly wasting her energy in refusing it.

"Неплохая идея." (Neplokhaya ideya., _No bad idea._ ), Karavayev's voice declared above her.

"Чтоб вам сдохнуть." (Chtob vam sdokhnut'., _Drop dead._ ), she tried to snap back, the quaver in her voice sadly all too audible.

Vadka cackled. Death didn't mean much to people like him. He started to stroll on over her, taking all the time necessary to enjoy the crumpling of her face.

"Может в другой день. Сначала мы должны закончить дело." (Mozhet v drugoy den'. Snachala my dolzhny zakonchit' delo., _Maybe another day. First we have to get the job done._ )

Suddenly, the last person present tried to hold him back.

"Нет, нет!... Было бы слишком видимо!" (Nyet, nyet!... Bylo by slishkom vidimo!, _No, no!..._ _It would be too visible!_ )

Of the four of them, he was the one she knew the least – to the point of not being sure of his name. The smallest of them, yet sturdy. Not very talkative, still concerned with _business_ issues.

"Ни один клиент не будет хотеть её." (Ni odin kliyent ne budet khotet' yeyo., _No customer will want her._ )

"И чё?" (I cho?, _Then what?_ ), Vadka insolently asked him.

The answer left her with bulging eyes and a wide open mouth, but no sound came out.

"Выколи её глаз. Если его заменят стеклянным, никто не заноет." (Vykoli yeyo glaz. Yesli yego zamenyat steklyannym, nikto ne zanoyet., _Poke her eye out. If it's replaced by a glass one, nobody will whine._ )

Several of them gave an amazed chuckle. Her heart now was thumping through her chest; her attempt at screaming out loud stuck again in her throat. Then Karavayev joined with Ilyusha in front of her, seemingly to enjoy the _show_.

"Ну вот... какая месть будет у тебя, мой друг!" (Nu vot... kakaya mest' budet u tebya, moy drug!, _Well… what a revenge you're going to have, my friend!_ ), he congratulated the blond guy while patting his arm. When Ilyusha was convinced enough of it to nod, he turned back to Vadka. "Развлекайся!" (Razvlekaysya!, _Have fun!_ )

That one didn't have to be told twice.

"Опа!" (Opa!, _Oh yeah!_ )

He sat on her knees with a matchless delight, taking her head between his hands. She tried to resist him, to writhe any which way without minding his crushing weight, but all it did was widening his warped smile.

"Правый или левый?" (Pravyy ili levyy?, _Right one or left one?_ ), he asked.

Her whole being was shaking out of control. She had closed her eyes as tightly as possible, yet each little detail of his gruesome face remained etched onto her mind. The beady black eyes, the prominent cheekbones, the pointed chin… even the curved scar under the latter. As he was clearly unsatisfied with the lack of answer, she heard the hiss of the dreaded shank being taken out, before feeling it held against her throat.

"Ты слышишь меня, а? _Правый или левый?_ " (Ty slyshish' menya, a? _Pravyy ili levyy?_ , _You hear me eh? Right or left?_ )

She didn't give much thought to the answer. The knife's threatening pressure soon tore it out of her as a lamentable stutter.

"Левый..." (Levyy..., _Left..._ )

"Как хочешь, милая." (Kak khochesh', milaya., _Аs you wish, honey._ ), he stated, forcing the said eye open.

"いや...!" (Iya...!, _No...!),_ she finally managed to cry out.

She was interrupted by the flat of the gleaming blade pressing on her lips.

"Тсс!" (Tss!, _Shh!_ ), Vadka whispered. "Не бойтесь Япошка, много времени это не займет _." (_ Ne boytes' Yaposhka, mnogo vremeni eto ne zaymet., _Don't worry Jap, it won't take long._ )

 

She woke bolt upright in the middle of the night, erratically wheezing. It took her some time to sense the faint light leaking out through the curtains, even more to calm down. When she acknowledged that the discreet  whirring of air conditioning was the only real sound to be heard, her head slumped into her hands. '今はダメ!' ( _Ima wa dame!_ , Not now!)

After several relatively calm years, nightmares were coming back to her with worrisome frequency. Flashbacks, for the most part. Her conscience wasn't clear enough to contain them.

After staying curled up for some long minutes, she decided to get up. She wouldn't sleep a wink anyway. Opening a curtain then the window behind it, she stepped barefoot on the balcony to quietly go sitting on the railing. The warmth of the outside air wrapped her up as she took a look at the surroundings. Below, there was the never-fading glow of Miami Beach; beyond a certain limit, the last visible lights were the bright spots sometimes crossing the dark ocean.


	20. Chapter 20

_> Playlist resuming…  >>>>> Chapter twenty >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Glenn Frey, "You Belong to the City"_

_"The sun goes down… the night rolls in…  
You can feel it starting… all over again…_

_The moon comes up… and the music calls…  
You're getting tired of staring at the same four walls…"_

At sunset hour, people to be found on the _Plage Municipale_ (Town Beach) came down to just a bare handful. A cool breeze was rustling the palms around, the calm sea shimmering with golden lights, and a vague shadow in the distance added an aura of mystery for the imaginative ones. In short, everything of a dream setting as long as you didn't turn around.

If you did the view would be fairly different, as what used to be a busy corniche had been recently demolished for complete renewal. Two buildings were still standing, but certainly wouldn't for very much longer; a nightclub, the _555_ , and a fish restaurant, the _Miami Beach_. Amusing coincidence when coming straight from the actual place.

Compared to the latter, here was less concrete, less moist, less lights; but bilingual street signs in Arabic and French, a beautiful medina a kilometer away and a nice Mediterranean feeling. It didn't mean the two locations had nothing in common, though. Apart from the playful nod and the view on the sea, both had a lot of Spanish-speaking people and were bordered by the Atlantic Ocean.

The last point wasn't totally true in the current place, but trying to distinguish Atlantic and Mediterranean waters would have been pointless. That one characteristic, however, was enough to guess what the earlier distant shadow was: the coast of Spain, kept away by the Strait of Gibraltar. Here, thus, was the northern tip of Morocco. More precisely, the city of Tangier.

_"The traffic roars… and the sirens scream…  
You look at the faces, it's just like a dream…_

_Nobody knows where you're going…  
Nobody cares where you've been…"_

"Tiens, voilà l'Arme Fatale." ( _Here comes Lethal Weapon_.)

Chances of him understanding French and grasping the reference to _La Cité de la Peur_ were close to nil, but at least being called that way pulled a slight puzzled smile out of him. Which probably meant he liked how it sounded, despite too much pride to admit he didn't get it.

"Hi."

He usually was away all day long, so seeing his bike reaching the condominium even before she could urged her to catch up with him. She was pleased to see that beyond spotting her as she was walking along Collins Avenue, he waited for her in the lobby rather than just disappearing into his place – as confirmed by his helmet still dangling in one of his hands.

"What's up big guy?"

"Nothing to do before this evening. Any plans?"

"Not yet, but I'll let you know." 

He beckoned her to follow, strolling on over the door to the oceanfront backyard. As always, only comfortable privacy could make him loosen up. They went past the outdoor deck and swimming pool, to move towards the decorative fence separating the lush garden they were now in from the private beach ahead. As she lifted herself to sit he put the helmet down and leant next to her, having enough interesting things in store to start the conversation himself.

"You all right?"

"All fine, thanks for asking.", she casually answered as she couldn't resist a little teasing; "Actually, I'm quite surprised right now… I thought you disliked human contact."

However laid back he was, his deepest inner self remained too defensive not to parry.  

"I can get when someone's off their game."

"That obvious?", she asked in a faint sigh.

"A bit." He ran a finger under his eye to make understood he had noticed the dark circles under hers. "Sleepless?"

"Damn, nothing gets past you."

"Just a familiar issue."

"Is it?"

"I guess for the same reason as you. The _eye_ and everything related to it."

She lowered the head. At first she wanted to say something like she wished that was all it was, but refrained in the end. _'Everything related to it'_ could encompass much more than Vadka playing with his knife or Aksornpan using unreliable technology to repair the damage.

"Nice hit.", she simply stated. "Is that why you run on _Jack D_?"

"No. But on strong coffee, yes."

"Coffee addict, eh? Matches you well, if you ask me."

"Ain't worse than looking like death warmed up.", he bantered back.

 _'Ah, you bastard.'_ , she thought, giving a snort before he had to block an incoming punch to his shoulder. _'You wouldn't already know how to hurt my feelings, would you?'_

"Mind you, I've killed people for far less than that.", she said when he released her wrist.

He lifted the head high, grinning a little wider than usual. The intended meaning was all too clear – _'come and get me'_ – so she looked straight into his eyes with a similar sneer. _'Whenever, pal.'_

_"'Cause you belong… to the city…  
You belong… to the night…_

_Living in a river of darkness… beneath the neon light..."_

Walking on the Moroccan shore at that time of the day was pleasurable, yet she was way too clear-headed for it to keep her attention away. Managing to think again about her earlier discussion with Golden almost wiped out the previous failures of staying in her hotel room, then of visiting the medina; but coming back to reality ruined it at once. It was nothing like hopelessness, though. She was here on purpose, and would do everything necessary to get what she was looking for whatever was to happen.

Still something lurking in the back of her mind was relentlessly plaguing her – from a vague impression at first, it had quickly grown into a very intrusive feeling. She could see herself beginning to enjoy living in Florida, as clearly as coming to Tangier and get another bit closer to both Jessi and Janus… but couldn't see the _things_ watching her from the shadows, patiently waiting to pounce on her.

Unable to put a name on what this was, all she had come up with was an analogy to looking at the wrong side of a one-way mirror. Accurate enough to render the threatening part of it, but also to give it even more strength. So the last option left now was waiting; waiting for it to fade away, waiting for the next events to take place.

Sitting on the low wall bordering the sand, she glanced at the sea from behind her new pair of Wayfarers. Going through the looking glass perhaps was a good way to stay in control, after all; so she didn't regret her choice of silver mirrored lenses. While it sadly couldn't reveal the aliens crawling around, it contributed to her smug smile when the line _'Definitely not Miami'_ occurred to her. Besides, imagining herself riding a vintage Ferrari spyder in a white suit and loafers then did her much more good than expected.

_"When you said goodbye… you were on the run…  
Tryin' to get away from the things you'd done…_

_Now you're back again… and you're feeling strange…  
So much has happened, but nothing has changed…"_

"How did it happen?", Golden asked, getting back to a more serious tone.

She raised an eyebrow, understanding what he was alluding to just after asking back;

"What?"

"The eye."

 _Obviously_ , that was what linked them in the first place. Yet her answer didn't come out as casual as intended;

"Thought you wanted to be of some _comfort_ , mister Genius."

"Getting it off your chest might help.", he calmly stated.

"Ah, _fine_."

She sighed, running her hand through her hair until rubbing the back of her neck. Actually, it was a good opportunity to try to discern his intentions; either he was searching for a weak point he could use to his advantage, or really wanted to make her ease off. Both were as likely, and going for it wouldn't do too much harm.

"I tell you, you tell me; alright?"

He faced her and crossed his arms, taking an attentive look; _'Alright.'._ She hence took a discreet breath, trying to draw away from what she was going to say.

"Some guys of the Russian mafia had a very personal grudge against me. When they managed to catch up to me, first thing they did was cutting my eye off… and here we are."

"Nothing to do with Janus?"

"Well… he sure has his part in this, but I guess that's not what really matters. It's a knife psycho that's been haunting my nights since then; not him."

 _'At least for this part of the story.'_ , she added for herself. But it was already much more than what she could easily reveal.

"Is he alive?"

"Who, the psycho?" He nodded, leading her to shrug. "Hell no. If he were I wouldn't."

"You did it?"

"As well as for all his buddies."

He kept a pensive silence, eventually saying;

"To be honest, I envy you."

While waiting for his development instead of raising anything against that last remark, she didn't know if he had to envy her for it. She remembered more of the slaughter itself than of the relief it gave her – supposing that it had even been of some relief.

"A bullet nearly missed my head. Voluntary or not, I don't care… it burnt like hell fire.", he continued, harshly pressing a nail along the scar cornering his eye.

Noticing the anger bubbling up in his words, she felt a little sorry to only think about how he seemed to have the knack for _showering_ in bullets. But then she cursed herself for thoughtlessly blurting out;

"Doctor No?"

With his aggressiveness taking over like now, Scaramanga giving up the info to her was of the last things he had to learn. Fortunately he didn't pay attention, as he slowly gave another confirming nod.

" _'It could easily have been more than your eye'_ , that's what he said. Next time I hear that, I'll gag the bastard with his own teeth."

He got almost scary when he said it. The threatening voice, the tense frown, the gleam in his eyes; they all pointed to a deeply held back, boiling rage. No wonder that MI6 got cold feet about keeping a guy like him in service… the day he unleashed himself, No's life wouldn't be worth a kopeck.

"I'd have thought of some talionic punishment like ripping his eyes off, but you can blame my unoriginality."

Hearing this, he incredulously stared at her. When he saw the mischievous look she gave him back, the scowl on his face gradually changed into a conniving smirk.

"Seems Janus had better watch out."

"Not like he's the only one. What about Goldfinger?"

"Don't worry, I feel the same way about him.", he answered, coming back next to her and laying his crossed arms on the fence.

"With the _notable_ difference that you don't give a single damn about the OMEN.", she couldn't help but snap back.

Much to her surprise, he didn't even rise to it.

"True. You should too."

She rested her head on her hand, not sure how to take that. However, after careful deliberation she settled for the most sincere reply she could give.

"…Perhaps."

_"You still don't know where you're going…  
You're still just a face in the crowd…"_

She stretched for a moment to stand up again. It got dark faster than she anticipated, but she had not yet received the signal she was waiting for. Rapidly fed up of pacing back and forth, she decided to get back to her hotel. It was about twenty minutes' walk from there; with a little luck she'd get what she wanted meanwhile.

Taking one last amused glance at the sign of the _Miami Beach_ , she went up the stairs to the paved sidewalk of the _Avenue Mohamed VI_. Her hair blowing in the evening wind happened to be quite soothing, so she didn't have a particular need of quickening her step. She shoved her hands in the pockets of the still stiff white leather jacket she had on, and looked around while walking.

As she headed towards the newly renovated fishing harbor, surrounded by the bright nightlife lights, she went past walkers – often young people searching for entertainment or fresh air. Shadows were dancing along the succession of street lamps, growing excessively large or ridiculously little; also intertwining as an eclectic mix of people, cars, palms, flags here and there and every other item found in the setting.

Quietly continuing on her way, she was about to take the turn to the _Rue de la Plage_ when she finally felt the long overdue vibration against her right hand. She immediately pulled the smartphone it came from, soon seeing a SMS notification. The message was terse, giving away who sent it even before she recognized the +1 phone number above;

_He's on the way. Good luck._

She had a pleased smile. _'Thanks pal.'_

_"You were born in the city…  
Concrete under your feet…_

_It's in your blood, it's in your moves… You're a man of the street."_


	21. Chapter 21

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter twenty-one >>>>>_

_ >>>>> _ _The Pretenders, "Where Has Everybody Gone?"_

_Where… has everybody gone…?_

_I've got this feelin'…  
Goin' to end up here on my own…"_

If one thing was certain, the _Grand Hotel Villa de France_ couldn't stay unnoticed. The imposing wrought iron gate standing at the intersection of several streets drew the eye right away, and the curves of the bronze logo on the marble wall at its center were clearly setting out the style of the establishment; less kitsch than _L'Or Noir_ and crowded than the Midas, but no less luxurious.

Perhaps a little too _colonial_ to her liking though, as the marbles, red carpet and colonnade felt too much to be of a bastion for wealthy foreigners. But it was no coincidence, the aim being quite obviously to match the atmosphere of places that novelists or painters of the past century would visit.

Resting against a wall within easy reach of the entry, she had been studying the outside part of the hotel for approximately fifteen minutes. An escape was improbable given what she came here for, but it was a useful way to waste time before the guy would arrive. Her _contact_ , so to speak – while he didn't even know of her existence yet, he seemingly did about a lot of noteworthy info on the two-faced.

She turned the head aside hearing a car approaching. Although there still was traffic around by then, this one got her attention as it had the sign of a taxi on top and entered the hotel compound. Golden's earlier SMS having been sent as soon as the contact exited Tangier's airport, it looked like her wait was finally over… _'about time'_ , she muttered.

Crossing the gate herself, she didn't let the cab out of her sight as it went along the curved driveway. About halfway of the red carpeted stairs bordering the latter, she saw the passenger getting out then being given his little luggage by the driver; so she slackened her pace to let him going into the lobby without noticing her. When she reached the door, an employee came out with the same luggage and through the glass she saw him heading towards a room on the right. This was the contact in person; catching a glimpse of his face allayed her last doubts.

Finally getting inside, she gave a saluting nod to the desk clerk. Going up to him was of little use, since she realized she didn't need to ask for moving to the room the contact went into. It was a lounge, revealing a subtly lighted bar just past. There wasn't too much people in there, however the average profile wasn't far from her prior guess – rich, late middle-aged foreigners. Some were dressed up but most were casual, hence she didn't even feel like a blot on the landscape. Rather _comfortable_ , actually.

While going through the cozy room, she tried to focus more on the tall pendulum clock and Matisse paintings than on returning the couple of _'bonsoir'_ (good evening) she was addressed along the way. She didn't want to sound rude, yet being greeted by unknown men like these wasn't bringing back particularly pleasant memories.

In the bar, her contact was sitting at the red padded counter. _Alone_. For a second not believing that everything had gone so perfectly up to there, she had a brief wavering while moving closer to him. She had already reached the seat next to his when pulling herself back together. _'Fine. Let's do this.'_

_"Where's my support now…?  
Where's the ranks of the strong…?_

_In this faceless crowd… where can I belong…?"_

"Bonsoir."

Despite seeming at first to be deep in thought, he took a look at her. It wasn't long before a smile appeared on his face – the smile of a man having a way with the ladies, she'd recognize it anywhere. Although it lacked the mischief Janus would have put in it, there was a troubling similarity that disturbed her at once.

"Bonsoir.", he saluted her in perfect French.

She studied him down before even thinking to what she should say next. Rather tall, having his dark hair slicked back with a discreet side part and wearing a light tan suit over a button-down white shirt. Definitely older than the two-faced, but still looking good.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est ?" (What is it?), she eventually inquired, designing the drink he had just been handed.

"Vodka martini." Seeing her raised eyebrow, he asked back; "Vous voulez essayer ?" (Do you want to give it a try?)

The mere mention of vodka had already talked her out of it, so she quickly looked for something with a fancy name in order to cover it up.

"Désolée d'être aussi peu aventureuse, mais je pense que je me contenterai d'un virgin Collins." (Sorry to be so unadventurous, but I think I'll settle for a virgin Collins.)

"Comme vous voudrez." (As you wish.), he gently said, nodding to the nearby barman.

At least he wasn't too judgmental. Perhaps the upcoming chit-chat was going to be _enjoyable_ , after all.

"Merci, monsieur …?" (Thank you, mister…?)

"Bond. James Bond."

 _'Spot on!'_ , she thought. The one who came the closest to wiping the гад out of existence was just facing her. According to Golden, he was very likely to be a 00 agent – in other terms, someone she'd better not mess with. The primary meaning of the 00 status being the authorization to kill at will, such people were carefully hand-picked… and therefore, terribly efficient.

"Rei … only Rei.", she said with a slight grin, judging it was time to switch to English. "Your French is pretty good for a British."

"Your English doesn't sound bad either.", he commented.

"That's because I use it much more often."

Her drink arrived as soon as she said it. Sparkling water, lemon juice and slice, sugar syrup, ice; simple, yet effective. Bond raised his own, which he had courteously left untouched up to there.

"To you, Rei."

"A la vôtre.", she toasted back.

Taking a slow sip of the Collins, she hid her current thoughts behind a smiling front. The _accent_ … it was all too reminding of Janus'. _No way_ that was fortuitous.

"So, are you here on business or pleasure?", he struck up.

"Business. Actually, it happens to have something to do with you Mr. Bond."

"Really? I don't remember having met you before."

She could have kept the small talk going as she'd have had with Scaramanga, but she was too much on the lookout for Bond right now. Using roundabout ways to get to the point would take too long and end up getting on her nerves; she needed to fire straight away.

"Valentin Zukovsky sent me."

" _Zukovsky_? What does he want from me?", he asked, not even concealing his great surprise over it.

"Better question would be what do _I_ want from you.", she answered with the sarcastic smirk inevitably breaking on her face.

"Then let me ask it."

"I want to put to death someone you once fought against."

Despite his collected exterior, it looked like the line stirred something up in him… as though he had instantly figured out who she was talking about.

"Who?", he asked again, some clear suspicion creeping into his voice.

"Janus."

 _"Everybody's gone insane to catch a plane to have their Heavens closer..._  
_They want the Kingdom... but they don't want the King..._  
_They want his throne..."_

He casually enjoyed a little more of drink as though he had absolute control over the situation. Pretty good show, yet she was convinced to have caught him off guard. Someone still alive years after having crossed swords with Janus necessarily had something shifty about him.

"That's a name I haven't heard in a long time.", he admitted. "But perhaps the biggest surprise is to hear it from a lady such as yourself."

She turned a blind eye to what she felt as a misogynistic hint in his last line, instead letting out a much more inspired attack;

"If you know people like him or Zukovsky, then I believe you hang out with no better crowd than I do."

Discerning amazement in his eyes had been far easier this time, and his attention seemed to have been fully drawn to her – certainly because of a sudden interest in how the discussion would go.

"In that case you ought to know you're running into deep trouble.", he said, keeping the same self-assured tone as before.

It might be a little too soon, but the straight-shooter persona had to show up again. Not only she was already well aware of what he just said, but being nowhere near his level meant that having a voice could only be achieved by putting a firm foot down.

"You look like all in one piece. Rather strange for someone who's said to have caused so much damage to the Janus Syndicate.", she stated, defiantly crossing arms.

"Zukovsky said it?"

The question somehow tipped her off. Before the meeting she thought of a standoff of some sort between Bond and Janus, but something that just crossed her mind was now turning to obsession. Those two _knew_ each other, _up close and personal._

"He did. He must have pinned all his hopes in you back then… he could have gained much, if the immediate aftermath hadn't kicked him out of Saint Petersburg."

"At least you got that part right.", he confirmed with a slight nod. "Sadly, it proves Janus to have much tougher hide than I can afford to deal with again."

Further evidence backing up her theory, if anything. He lost something to the two-faced, but couldn't claim it back because he didn't have the authority anymore. He, too, had a revenge to take… providing her what appeared to be the most effortlessly exploitable breach she could hope for.

" _I_ can.", she asserted, leading to an inquiring look of his. "All I ask is who he is and what's your story with him. I'll handle the rest myself."

Even though she believed up to there that he was taking her seriously, the amused laughter he gave shattered it all at once.

"You won't take a hint, will you?"

Whatever happened, he wasn't ready to let her finish the job. He couldn't stand how it'd push him into the background; and if it was all personal, then there might also be something about restoring _honor_. _'Fine.'_ But none of her concern.

"I guess not."

"Listen. I may give you all the answers you seek, but under one strict condition." Without any reaction of hers, he continued by himself; "Tell me what's exactly between you and Janus."

 _'I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that my answer might tend to incriminate me.'_ , that's what she should have replied… but it would have granted him the bargaining chip way too easily.

"We'll reach a deadlock on this, don't you know?", she quietly said, leaning on her elbows over the counter.

"Let's find out which one of us gives in first."

"Janus is incredibly talented at ripping people off. Hearing you I'd bet you bore the brunt of it too, right?" He gave a noncommittal wave of the head she knew to be interpretable as a _'yes'_. "Now, what have you got to lose?"

He had a sly smile, proving that such attempt at diversion wouldn't be sufficient to convince him.

"What have you got to hide?"

Before she'd snap something back, a cleared throat behind them got both their attentions. The noise came from a mixed-race, light brown skinned man. Short hair and beard, sleek dark gray suit, serious look but warm presence; it would have only taken a darker skin tone and a solitary earring for him to totally look like Ricardo Tubbs.

Narrowing her gaze at one then the other revealed the familiarity of friends, quickly making her understand she was the interloper here. _Tubbs_ apparently didn't want to look too hostile to her presence, but Bond took the opportunity to rush the conversation towards its end faster.

"Ah… business calls, I'm afraid.", he stated.

"A shame. We're not finished yet.", she answered back.

"We can pick up this conversation tomorrow morning, if you like."

Tubbs had drawn closer to her, either to push her to go away or to simply listen to what was being said. She only gave him a cold shoulder, his comrade alone being enough to deal with.

"Where will we meet?"

"Just ask for my room number at the front desk, that should be convenient enough." Bond gazed straight at her.  "I do hope we'll eventually get together on this."

"So do I."

She stood up from the bar stool, intentionally switching back to her earlier smug French to take her leave.

"A demain donc, monsieur Bond … et merci pour le verre." (See you tomorrow then, Mr. Bond… and thanks for the drink.), she said before a slight shared nod with Tubbs.

"Ce fut un plaisir, Rei." (My pleasure, Rei.)

 _"Pack your face… save your cases of your place in the Everafter…_  
_These hallowed halls are lined with walls… that are cracked…_  
_By the Myria's laughter…"_


	22. Chapter 22

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter twenty-two >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Iron Maiden, "Déjà-Vu"_

_"When you see familiar faces…  
But you don't remember where they're from…_

_Could you be wrong…?"_

When eventually exiting the compound's gate, she had to clench her fists very tightly not to hurl them into the air. Her own slime in the preceding conversation made her sick, and yet she knew she couldn't have handled things otherwise.

What had she expected, anyway? Of course Bond wouldn't have been keen on giving the game away; he hadn't a single idea of whose side she was on, while this had to be something very personal for him too. Still she couldn't put up neither with the way he dismissed her out of hand, nor with how she just let someone that similar to the гад do so.

Her biggest issue in this was that tangling with a spook should have remained off the table. If he uncovered her links either with Janus, an MI6 rogue agent such as Golden, or at worst with what happened in Vegas, she'd better hope he didn't get his hands on her. Getting back to him hence was dangerous – no one knew what he could come across overnight. He could as well find nothing at all, but she had to prepare for any eventuality.

Also, _Tubbs_. Quickly figuring out who that one was might be useful to avoid unpleasant surprises. Besides, he was another witness to the earlier scene, and it was precisely because of those that she held herself back from getting way more aggressive. No doubt that Bond would have fought back if she did, but at least the odds would have been higher that she wouldn't have had to meet with him again.

As turning to the first lane on the right, she tried to calm down by putting her hands back into her pockets. Some good actually came out of all this, and perhaps that was what she should focus more on. Bond didn't totally close the door to telling her what she wanted. He might not even have bluffed when inviting her to come back the next morning – though it still had to be proved. If he had a score to settle with the two-faced, then they _could_ reach a mutual agreement… and the fact he couldn't be in charge here was to her advantage.

All of a sudden she looked over her shoulder. There wasn't a soul in the street she was walking along, and yet she thought for sure that someone tailed her. Once she got a good look, she blinked and kept moving on, but faster. Although her brain might just be playing tricks, her racing mind couldn't find peace; the aliens preying upon her had drawn _closer_.

Not so comforting either was the block she went past. The surrounding brightness had been enough to decipher the copper plate at the entry; _'British Honorary Consulate'_. It was closed and no light was to be seen from the windows, fortunately. She hadn't noticed until then that it was the wrong way for coming back to her own hotel, and thus that she had taken this detour for no valid reason. _'The goddamned city's driving me nuts. Can't wait to get outta here.'_

Something struck her at this moment – what if all had been _too_ easy? What if Bond dangled Janus' head only to bait her? He could as well only want her to blab, no matter what means he used to achieve it. She didn't think he knew nothing, though. Zukovsky would have gained nothing by admitting he bargained with British intelligence, and Scaramanga had done some checking around before sending her there. Still, if Bond wanted to find out who she was his best informant was no one but her.

Having finally got at the end of the unsettling street, she headed due north trying to think about something else. The result was her thoughts getting muddled with parasitic ideas, barely better. She was too jumpy to pretend she was still in Miami, and no pair of mirrored Ray-Bans would do the trick this time… it was too late to put on sunglasses, incidentally.

First thing she had to do once back to her hotel was to give Scaramanga a call, or perhaps Golden as it certainly was the middle of the night in Thailand. She urgently needed advice on which approach she should take with Bond; one wrong move and everything could shatter, whereas the man was her only available source of information on the two-faced. No way she let her mood swings mess the whole thing up.

She stuck to the edge of the medina for some long, bothersome minutes until she hit the _Place du Tabor_ , and a few tens of meters further on the right she could see at last the sign saying _'La Maison Blanche'_ (The White House). Going over there she reached a _riad_ , or traditional Moroccan house, with smooth tadelakt plaster walls which were the namesake of the hotel located inside.

Pushing an heavy studded door carved in dark wood, she found herself in the patio. At its center was the most notable highlight of the establishment – a turquoise-blue and white tiled, eight-pointed star shaped fountain, adorned with fresh roses and jasmine flowers – and beyond it was an airy mezzanine gallery.

All these combined to the Oriental style around were particularly exotic to her, but she wasn't in the mood for paying them any real attention. Instead she directly moved left and took the stairs to the roof terrace, where her room was located. The one who booked it, whoever it was, made a praiseworthy move here; as there were no other rooms on this floor, she could enjoy both great privacy and, if she took the time to contemplate it, a panoramic view of Tangier.

As soon as she found herself out in the fresh evening air again, there were just a last few steps to go before getting to her door. Even with the provided convenience features nobody was there; no bad thing. At least she wouldn't be disturbed.

But it would have been even better if she hadn't put her keys in her jeans. Fishing them out proved to be more difficult than expected, and as she was grumbling a subsequent curse under her breath she didn't look out for someone coming upstairs. When she ended up getting them, it was already too late. She felt something hard thrusting into her back, and heard a man's voice whispering;

"Ни звука." (Ni zvuka., _Not a word_.)

_"When you've been particular places…  
That you know you've never been before…_

_Can you be sure…?"_

"Иди внутрь." (Idi vnutr'., _Go inside._ ), the man then commanded.

She slowly turned the key, unable to repress the resulting clench in all her muscles. _'Don't panic. It's a gun… if he uses it the whole neighborhood will hear. Nobody's that stupid.'_

As soon as the door was open he shoved her in without ceremony. The violent jerk forward briefly made her lose balance, but she managed to stay on her feet and turn towards her assailant. A tall, slim blond dude wearing a grey bomber jacket over a plain white T-shirt and headphones around his neck. _Funny_ , that was the first time she met a music-loving hit man. But the thing was, neither his appearance nor his native Russian rang any of her bells.

He closed the door behind him with his free hand, the other one pointing a suppressed Walther PPK/S at her. Such equipment proved him to be a professional, leading to an hesitation of hers. If he had been properly supplied, then there was a non-negligible probability that he did intend to shoot her down. She had already seen some high-performance suppressors sold by the Janus Syndicate in action… results were quite terrifying.

"Встань на колени. Быстро." (Vstan' na koleni. Bystro. _, Get on your knees. Quick.)_

At his dry tone, she complied without a word. She carried a knife, but pulling it out of her pocket would take much longer than a bullet striking her forehead. Then again, keeping her cool was becoming more and more difficult. Fear might be counteractive when playing for time, yet she perfectly knew she was afraid of dying… and that it could get her to do _anything_.

Once satisfied he drew closer then went behind her back, his face emotionless. She only stared at him all along, silenced by the growing lump in her throat. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of watching her face crumpling with terror, but it was easier said than done; particularly when she felt the end tip of the suppressor pressing against the back of her head.

He could have been sent by virtually anyone – Janus, a friend of the late Karavayev, or any other Russian mobster who held a grudge against her. She didn't see him coming in, and nobody would see him going out. She wasn't going to die this way, no matter which of those filthy bastards put the hit on her. She wasn't going to die at the hands of the first guy that walked by, _goddammit!_

_"Have you ever talked to someone…  
And you feel you know what's coming next…?_

_It feels pre-arranged…"_

Her left hand suddenly grabbed the barrel of his pistol, pulling it to push her body weight backwards and move to a crouched position. She had seized his wrist with her other hand, now fiercely extending his arm between her head and shoulder. The naughty little gun went off, making barely more noise than the metallic clack of the firing pin as it struck the shell – subsonic ammunition, small caliber such as .22 Long Rifle. Even worse than her expectations.

She fell on her back to the floor to face him, twisting his hand so that the weapon was aimed sideward. When he struggled to rip it free, a kick went directly to his groin. It confused him enough to give her the space she needed to slam her foot in his face, and to gain control of the blued finish pistol once he tumbled.

Up to there, everything came off incredibly well. It was a sure thing that her training by the Syndicate kept yielding results whatever she told herself. She now could take aim at him, with the firm intention of getting him spit out everything he knew before she'd pull the trigger. Then she spotted something that fell on the tiled ground during the fight; an hypodermic syringe. Before doing anything else she brutally crushed it beneath her sneaker, watching the colorless liquid pool around her sole. Blondie here never signed for an execution, but an _abduction_ … that was something new.

But doing so gave him the opportunity to snatch her ankle up and knock her down. He quickly picked himself up and kicked the gun away from her hand, before delivering  a furious stomp to her ribs. It left her breathless and vulnerable; he lifted her up to punch her in the abdomen, then threw out an heavy bash at her face.

She felt her head being pushed sideways as she stumbled backwards until hitting the bathroom's door, but not the slightest sting of pain. Even so, her fingers were stained with blood when she pulled her hand away from her lips. The latter twisted in a warped smile, and before he scrambled to strike once more she snapped her switchblade open. She thanked Golden for it – it was him who got her another one of these little ceramic gems.

Blondie jolted back when seeing the shank. Capitalizing on the situation she rushed forward, targeting his chest. But he stepped aside, also narrowly dodging the ensuing series of jabs she sent in. His arm was gashed by a slashing blow when he tried to deflect hers and this time she anticipated his sidestep, flinging the blade straight at his gut.

He spun around, grabbing her wrist and forcing her arm to the ground. She charged her shoulder into him hoping it would make him lose his grip, but he took the hit and kept bearing down. She wrenched once, twice, three times with her other hand, until her arm could make a free slice from the bottom up. It was her first mistake; high in the air was precisely where he wanted the knife to be, far from any weak spot and, above all, out of the way to her stomach.

The knee he sent her as he blocked her weapon-wielding arm made her realize this rather painfully. A thrusting kick slammed her against a wall, which made a nearby lamp crash into pieces. It was only then she noticed the shank had slipped from her hand to his in the process. When he lunged to stab her she retaliated by taking a swing at him. He wasn't totally stunned though, and still had managed to poke the knife into her shoulder.

She glanced at where the injury was located, wincing as the white leather of her jacket was already turning red. She had to get this over with as quickly as possible – her pulse was too fast, too much blood would escape whether if the fight went on for too long or if she were inflicted more wounds.

Viciously smashing his kneecap proved to be her best choice to make him cry out in pain and drop the weapon. The zirconium oxide blade shattered outright; perhaps was it the reason why he didn't do likewise earlier, but at least she thought she could _safely_ revert to regular fist fighting. Nothing but a false belief. Before she could parry Blondie surprised her with a perfectly aimed hit in her temple that almost knocked her out, then took advantage of her dizziness to roughly toss her on the bed.

As stars were still dancing in her brain she felt him loop the wire of his headphones around her neck and yank, burying his knee into the small of her back. She began to gag and squirm, but the garrote was already too deeply embedded in her flesh to try to ease the tension. In fact all she could do was finally figuring out who he was; _Necros_ , an ex-FSB mercenary well-known for his strangling techniques. Also an occasional collaborator to the Janus Syndicate, as if by chance.

He pulled even more until she blacked out. The only thing she was sure to have heard at this precise moment were these words;

"Приятных сновидений." (Priyatnykh snovideniy., _Sweet dreams_.)

_"'Cause you know that you've heard it before…  
And you feel that this moment in time is surreal…_

_'Cause you know when you feel déjà-vu."_


	23. Chapter 23

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter twenty-three >>>>>_

_ >>>>> _ _Godley & Creme, "Cry"_

 _"You don't know… how to ease my pain…_  
_You don't know…_  
_You don't know… how to ease my pain…"_

Having participated in kidnappings of this kind a couple of times in the past, she knew the drill like the back of her hand. The first step was to administer the abductee a combination of sedative and muscle relaxant so he or she didn't wake up. Then a team of fake doctors popped up and took the abductee to the nearest airport, where a jet mocked up as an air ambulance conveniently waited for them. Last on the list was the subtle game of duping local customs, but since nothing had to be hidden apart from their real identities, well-forged documents usually made it all too easy.

She came out of the blackout some time after the takeoff, as keeping her asleep was no longer required. The two guys she had been handed to by Necros were chatting in Russian in the background; one of them came see her when hearing her harness unbuckled. He had already changed back to his usual clothes, and only gave her a glass of water before walking away.

Drinking turned out to be an ordeal. The awful pain in her throat was hard to stand, several times almost making her cough the water up. When she finally managed to empty the glass and put it on a nearby tray table, her eyes came to fix upon the papers that were there; a copy of her old Russian passport and everything needed to justify medical repatriation. No doubt anymore that she had boarded a one-way flight to good old Piter.

Getting her fingers to where Blondie had stabbed her earlier, she felt a bandage under the fabric of her T-shirt. It didn't come from anyone's heart, of course. Unlike the aching bruises all over her body this was the only injury that involved bleeding, hence a potential threat to her life – or, in a more pragmatic point of view, unwanted smudges. Also, her concealing contact lens had been removed.

Neither of her captors said a single word to her in the whole journey. She didn't care about it; she wasn't expecting their pity at any rate. As she sat cross-legged on the stretcher, it wasn't long until she curled up in a ball. More than for hiding her tears from the others in the eventuality of those breaking out, it was a way to shield herself. The shadows creeping behind her mental one-way mirror had just taken a distinct shape; the pale, cold hands of the two-faced, always closer to gently taking hold of her neck... in order to better snap it.

_"You don't know… what the sound is darlin'…  
It's the sound of my tears fallin'… _

_Or is it the rain…?"_

It seemed as though the world was sinking from under her feet. Miami's sun, Tangier's breeze... they were all far behind. Now she had to face the _harsh_ reality; she perfectly knew what laid ahead. This time the best she could do was saving her strength instead of haphazardly scouting some way out, as in any case no one would hear her scream.

Besides, she realized  she had grown tired of all this. In the end, she didn't move forward a single bit since she blew the OMEN. She did talk a lot with a number of people, _yes_ , but what then? Janus was still unidentified and in one piece, Dr. No was hiding under his tropical paradise, and she was going to die without it making any substantial difference as far as Jessi was concerned. So it couldn't even called _'time saving'_ ; if Xenia had directly brought her back from Vegas, everything would have been the same.... minus the body count.

Though she wondered, how come the гад managed that quickly to catch her while in Morocco? Scaramanga meeting her in St Petersburg made much more sense – at least she stayed long enough in the place to be likely to be found there. In contrast, the reasons why a big name such as Necros was sent for the job were easier to guess. Either Blondie could hit the ground running fastest, or Janus had come to consider her as a real threat, or _both_.

But something cut short these thoughts, giving another explanation of her current numb state. The _flashbacks_. They didn't need her to be asleep anymore to burst forth, being now determined to erode her remaining sanity. She was sure to be quivering, and if she cried then it certainly was a this particular point. Yet she would never know; her mind was currently stuck in the past, into a fight that couldn't be won in any way. When getting the upper hand over these demons, she was exhausted enough to stay idle for the following hours, her stare blank.

_"You don't know… how to play the game…  
You cheat… you lie…_

_You make me wanna cry…  
You make me wanna cry…"_

The aircraft eventually landed in Veshchevo air base, a disused site located a hundred kilometers northwest of Saint Petersburg. Once the largest Soviet military installation in the area, it met the same fate as the railway depot where she first met Scaramanga. Its abandonment was decided short after the collapse of the USSR, and not even its strategic position along the Finnish border had changed anything about it.

Unlike all its successive proprietors Janus had known from the very beginning what he wanted to do with it; the main dispatch center for weapons he sold. Only a small fleet was housed in there though – most often customers came themselves to collect their orders. While it was the first time she got in there she immediately recognized the place by the decaying _'Air Base'_ for some reason written in English on the front gate of the hardened aircraft shelter.

But her abductors didn't give her any more time to enjoy the sights. They had cuffed her hands behind her back before exiting the jet, and now were letting three other men put her in an unmarked car. Yet another silent trip, without any notable event other than the guy who sat next to her making clear he was armed and dangerous. Anyway, she already knew where the end of the road would be.

Even though Veshchevo was a major focal point, there were as few weapons stored in there as possible. The rest was distributed in multiple locations, with the one she knew best being a storage facility north of the Kirovsky district, not very far from Saint Petersburg's  sea port. As it was the only one located within the city, Syndicate operatives often favored it for gathering, training, getting low-level assignments… and sometimes, _handling_ prisoners.

Perhaps the most infuriating thing about this place was that she might as well have made it home on foot from there. All she hopelessly wanted was to find Jessi again, so they could go back for the cushy life they had made for themselves during all these years – accepting some contracts to make bucks, taking care of the flat to make it a cozy hideout, using their off hours to do whatever they wanted. It had worked out for some time, actually. It could even have _kept_ going if the goddamned гад had stayed as straight with them as he once was.

As soon as the car arrived at destination she was pulled out of it, then dragged all the way to Склад №8 (Sklad Nomer vosem', _Warehouse 8_ ). The latter didn't need to prove its long-standing reputation; people came out of it in lamentable shape at best, feet first at worst. It had been chosen for purpose of detention in the first place as being the closest one to the central guardhouse, hence chances of escape were dramatically low. No wonder that none of the familiar faces she came across along this death march seemed to recognize her. _Anything_ in the world was better than being in her shoes right now.

When she finally entered the said warehouse, the first thing that caught her eye on was the chair. It looked like it was waiting just for her, standing out from the various wooden crates and large, empty cable reels by its central position in the room. When the goon holding her at gunpoint moved away to let the rest of the escort get her into it, a sudden burst of survival instinct flowed through her.

Despite her hands being restrained by the metal cuffs, she heavily shoved her shoulder against the one on her right before the third guy took the gunner's place on her left. As soon as he was pushed far enough she turned round, lifting her knee to push her hip forward and kick at the same time. But once this _Mae Geri_ _Kekomi_ was successfully delivered and her foot back on firm ground, a single gunshot fired very close to the latter made her jump back.

As her gaze shifted to him, the gunner raised his weapon – a Russian P-96S, seemingly – to her head, slowly shaking his own. Then she felt herself being hauled backwards. She tried to slow the motion down by scraping her heels across the floor and struggling, but obviously soon found herself pinned into the infamous seat. As the threat of the loaded gun kept her still, one of the captors went get some strong duct tape and strapped her ankles to its legs.  

They left her shortly after, having double-checked that the backdoor was locked and closing the front roller shutter. All she had for company was the whistling of the electrical panel and the cold air flowing through broken windows near the ceiling. She took a long breath, but it proved ineffective against the pit in her stomach. She lowered her head and closed her eyes; _'Here we are at last. The goddamned conclusion.'_

_"You make me wanna cry…  
You don't know…_

_You don't even know how to say goodbye…  
You make me wanna cry…"_


	24. Chapter 24

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter twenty-four >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Dead Astronauts, "These Bones (Have Left You)"_

_"These bones have left you nothing… nothing to hold onto…  
These bones have left… and no one is left… to care about you…_

_They'll always kick you when you're down… down without a clue…_  
_They know just when… you're feeling weak…_  
_And they'll rip right through you…"_

"Hello my dear."

She cursed herself for looking up when the shutter was opened again, a _lifetime_ later. Not only she'd have prevented herself from having to bear the sight of _him_ , comfortably wrapped up in a leather trench coat to ward off the September chill, but also of his most faithful follower – _Onatopp_ , who else? The perspective of having a fresh piece of meat available for torment always got the goddamned spider going.

"Your little break in the sun has done wonders for your complexion, I see."

Even when he laid a hand on her shoulder, no reaction came from her. He noticed the dark red stain below and pressed on it, probably not for much more than the satisfaction of seeing her grimace of pain. Then he lifted her chin all of sudden, which exposed the thin ligature mark on her throat and triggered the rest of his comment;

"Such a shame that Necros didn't go easy on you."

"He's lucky he did bring her back _alive_.", Xenia muttered, putting on an offended air.

Just as expected, they had taken on their respective roles of good cop and bad cop. While it was a rather perfect illustration of how they used to conduct business when assembled, the trick was all too familiar for her to fall for it – and they knew that full well.

That was why the Ossetian was inspecting the jacket Kaiko had been earlier stripped of rather than just playing it straight, weighing up and stretching the white leather to estimate its resistance... but only to leave it on a crate as soon as her interest flagged. _'Good.'_ Should that scum have decided to nab it, the success of the day would have been _complete_.

"He's not the kind to botch a job.", Janus only replied in an offhand manner, before catching something in the air that came from his right-hand woman.

The half-Asian instantly recognized the Swiss passport provided by Goldfinger's organization. As the two-faced went along quickly browsing through the pages his infamous smirk broke out, soon giving way to a slight chuckle.

" _'Rei Clérian'_ … could it be that your real name has become too hard to bear?"

If he hoped she'd fly off the handle at this he got another thing coming. Whatever she'd say would inevitably backfire, whatever she'd do would get her into his game; hence better to brace herself as early as _possible_ , and shut it before getting hopelessly out of control. What's more she could enjoy how being cut dead really seemed to irk him, which might as well be the only good thing that'd come out of this confrontation.

"Never seen her so _silent_.", Xenia noted after the following lapse of silence, a surprised look appearing on her face.

"Then we'll have to loosen her tongue."

At his curt tone while he went behind her back, the half-Asian couldn't help but swallow. Big trouble was _imminent_ ; the feeling of her right hand being forced open sadly confirmed it. Her index finger was carefully straightened, to be grabbed by his full hand. She remained just as silent – however obvious what'd happen next was she wouldn't beg him for anything. As he started to bend her finger back, she squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. But when it came to break in a crunching sound, the awaited scream proved to be impossible to stifle.

"手前…!" (Temē…!, _You bastard!_ )

"Ah, much better.", he could be heard contentedly stating.

" _Bite me!_ ", she spat out in pain, though managing to hide her sudden alarm at how rasp this just sounded.

"Watch your language, or I'll take care of the others myself."

Onatopp had roughly grabbed a handful of Kaiko's hair saying this, lifting the latter's head to stare her in the eyes – but only got an aggressive hiss in response.

The two-faced went get a folding chair that laid around in the surrounding clutter, to set it in front of the half-Asian and sit on it backwards. As he rested his arms on its back, his look already gave up how certain he was that she wouldn't act so brave anymore.

"Since you are a little more receptive… do you mind if I start this out with a stupid question?"

Apart from the throbbing pain shooting up her hand all the way to her arm, the worst in this was that it indeed was too _early_ to get the rest of her fingers snapped. It was maddening to acknowledge he was once more right on the mark, but she'd hate for it to do nothing but give them what they wanted – tearing her apart in every possible way. Hence all she did was lowering the head… and not letting her wrecked voice out until her breathing came back to about normal.

"Depends on the depth of its stupidity."

"As far as I know, it seems that some time ago you held Xenia at point-blank range but didn't pull the trigger. May I ask why?"

For a brief moment she remained baffled, as the question didn't quite look like any of the sticks she assumed he'd beat her with. Then a nervous grin gradually formed on her lips as she realized the full extent of what he just said. _'Don't tell me I did that...'_

"I had a bomb to set off.", she tried to answer in a wicked tone.

Rather than picking at it, he chose to look as though it was totally acceptable – knowing that the ensuing question would be even more devastating than the first one.

"All right. Now, how do you live with having claimed so many innocent lives when one shot would have done just as well?"

 _'No. Dammit, no.'_ She hardly thought so that he delivered the finishing shot;

"I believe we've reached the bottom of inanity, haven't we?"

Forgetting about the pain and restraints she threw herself forward, probably hoping to smash his head in the process. But he must have seen it coming as his hand seized her throat, stopping her motion at once so she could be grabbed by both her shoulders and brought back upright by the spider.

_"These bones have left you nothing… nothing to go home to…  
These bones have left… and no one is left… to care about you…_

_They know the places you'll be found… and where you've been refused…_  
_Where your voice in the dark's the only friend you know…_  
_And they'll leave you beaten and… bruised…"_

"Do you even know why you did so?" As Kaiko was absent-mindedly shaking her head, he didn't wait much longer for expanding. "Well, what if someone softly whispered it in your ear? For example a rather handsome, manly man whom you fought alongside of… that you may have been tempted to _trust_ at first sight."

Her immediate reaction was to cast him a murderous glance. _No way_ he'd get away with tossing innuendoes so soon after such a fine demonstration of how she pointlessly screwed everything up beyond all recognition.

"How would I be tempted to trust _anyone_ after what you've done to me?", she snapped back, eventually giving in to frontal showdown.

"You'd be surprised at how short people's memory is."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but not _mine_."

"It's true that you still look utterly afraid of me." Her failure at holding back a flinch when he took one of her black locks between his fingers indeed was irrefutable evidence of it. "But then I can't figure out what made you think you could both keep me away and meet with Valentin Zukovsky."

It was only after he left her hair that she could think straight again and have a clear view of how he caught her so rapidly. He certainly had been told about her coming in Azerbaijan by the people he had spying on Zukovsky, and watched her every move ever since – permitting him to send Necros to Tangier just in time.

"What about Bond busting you up?", she abruptly threw back in his face.

"Oh yes, _Bond_. I'd be curious to learn what that one did say about me."

Despite his perfunctory air, the question definitely aroused his concern. Unlike Bond she knew him well enough to tell it from the split second of hesitation before he spoke. Such a reaction was yet another similarity that those two shared, so she went for using plain and simple bluff to test her theory.

"He said you were _friends_."

"He _did_ …?" Actually, it might well be the first time she saw him give a frank laugh. "Well, you see… it happens that back in our misspent youth we _really_ were. Having achieved to get this out of him you certainly deserve a reward." He pointed two fingers like a gun and pressed them on her forehead. "Here's a little info you should know; it didn't prevent me from shooting down the pretty young lady who was with him last time we came across each other."

While having him bite the bait was a sheer success, the victory jubilation was short-lived. The vicious gleam his eyes had taken was unmistakable; he already wanted this to be over with. Even if he was clearly skirting the topic, the picture he conjured up of her looming death effortlessly overpowered her courage to keep locking horns with him. In the end, perhaps that making this quick was the best thing she could hope for.

"Do it again, if that's what you crave.", she simply said, looking straight into his eyes.

He only drew his arm away from her and let an almost regretful sigh out.

"To be honest, I would have."

"Except that _I_ don't want so."

As if saying this hadn't been a displeasing enough reminder of her presence, the spider had no qualms about clenching the half-Asian's broken finger. The latter managed to repress a cry by biting her lip, yet couldn't refrain from unhelpfully deprecating herself. What the hell was she thinking? Even in silently watching them all along, Onatopp still was here for a _reason_.

"So you'll just… work me over until death ensues?", Kaiko asked in a resigned tone, which led to an affirmative nod from Xenia;

"That's pretty much the deal."

"As for what's next I have plans already made.", Janus added.

Every time she believed he couldn't make things worse the man proved her wrong... even though the Ossetian ripping her to shreds was of the most horrible ways to die she could think of, she felt the cold completely closing in on her.

"Really? What a lovely attention."

"My pleasure.", he answered on the same sarcastic tone, though hers certainly did a poor job at concealing her thriving fright.  "You must know that you are younger and healthier than a number of people."

"And?"

"Some would do anything to get a kidney, liver, heart…  even a single eye. See where I'm getting at?"

Why did she only keep an aghast silence over it? Not so long in the past she'd have struggled or at least protested hearing such trash talk; anything but certainly not biting the bullet as if there was no other way out. The submissive stance she had taken made it clear that the last of her dignity had just gone up in smoke.

"At last I'll be assured to easily recover all the money you owe me."

 _'At last you're showing your hand, you goddamned_ _гад_ _!'_ The fact he had been careful not to mention anything Dr. No meant her actions did have a significant impact on his business, and his last line was spiteful enough to betray his rage before her. A shame that she had been dragged down too low for spitting it out loud.

"And we'll see if your _friends_ of Miami will rush to your rescue.", Onatopp gloated as the two-faced stood up to casually state;

"Oh, almost forgot this is the last time I'm going to see you looking good."

The second he bent over her she knew what he was going to do. As though the filthy bastard hadn't quite made the most of her being tied up yet, he allowed himself to put even more fuel in the fire by kissing her. Not only she didn't have much room to avoid it, but the fact she couldn't retaliate had a nasty result – dissociating her mind from her body for the first time in ages. Her sanity's ultimate layer of security, so to speak.

When she came back to reality, Xenia had taken his seat while he was preparing to leave. As he did, his eyes fell on the crate where the half-Asian's jacket had been abandoned earlier and he went get something lying just next to it all at once. The object was too small to be seen on the palm of his hand and he seemed to be familiar with it, making Kaiko quickly figure what it was; her two face indicator. He took a last look at her, then after a smile slipped the coin in his pocket and went out saying;

"Enjoy yourselves ladies."

The Ossetian stretched herself out like a cat, her enthusiasm all too obvious.

"Цæй баидайæм." (Tsay baidayam.)

Since this had to be something like _'let's begin'_ , the half-Asian had nothing left to do but tensing up.

_"These bones have left you… (These bones…)  
And your blood runs cold… (Blood runs cold…) _

_These bones have left you…  
With no one to hold… (No one to hold.)"_


	25. Chapter 25

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter twenty-five >>>>>_

_ >>>>> _ _Castanets, "You are the Blood"_

_"You are... the blood...  
Flowing... through my fingers..."_

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Xenia's voice felt like it came from far away. Now it was nothing but one of the many stimuli that had gradually been subdued by pain, fear and exhaustion. Time was another, incidentally. In the first two days, keeping its track came down to watching light and darkness chasing each other beyond the broken panes of the warehouse; ever since everything seemed as though it stood still.

" _Look at me_."

In fact, that last analogy wasn't so accurate; although the Ossetian spider was away most of the day, every moment wasn't frozen in time. Whenever a greater hurt was involved, the burst forward was violent enough to remind the half-Asian that the clock was still ticking – and that in her case, it was on the verge of running down.

"Fine, if you want to go that way..."

The sudden stab of pain through her hand was so awful that her swollen eyes opened as wide as they could. While the two-faced had the knack for breaking fingers, his right-hand woman's personal technique for regaining attention was hopelessly less refined – tearing fingernails off. Her victim shrieked, even more so when a second nail unexpectedly received the same treatment.

Ripping all her nails off at once would have got her screaming in agony more effectively, of course, but taking time and proceeding little by little was way more vicious. There was this weird effect she noticed; the more often the same thing was inflicted to her, the more intensity her suffering gained. Perhaps it was caused by mental barriers getting increasingly easy to bypass, or just by apprehension about enduring it over and over. Regardless, Xenia obviously knew about this – giving her next taunt a more cruel flavor than it should have had;

"Bye bye numbers three and four. At this rate, your toes won't make it to the end either."

The half-Asian's sore throat wheezed for air, as the reflex to toss herself back and forth on the chair had long been sapped by the sharp burn of the cuffs cutting into her skin. She slowly moved her head upwards despite the stiffness of her neck; the first piece of visual information she eventually processed was the wicked grin given right above her.

"Much better, little one. But too late."

A second later, a resounding backhanded slap almost took her head off. She coughed up some blood and felt dizzy, then shivered when thinking that beating the living daylights out of her wouldn't be nearly sufficient to satiate her captor's sadistic lust. Anything could still happen, that meant. _Absolutely_ anything.

"I guess we're done for today, there are sadly other things to keep me busy tonight. Concerning tomorrow's session… well, it's about time I got my due.", the spider pensively said, coming to press her palms against Kaiko's aching thighs and lean over her. Her face was now so awkwardly close that the half-Asian pulled away, fearing a kiss. "I mean, did you think I'd let _him_ have the sole right to get it on with you?"

The question sent a shockwave through the captive's whole being. She wanted to believe that those were empty words, that the mention of _him_ was only meant to unleash her deepest-buried nightmare so it would take over the last remnants of sanity from her brain. But this would be forgetting who she was dealing with. She knew Xenia had been looking forward to this for too long not to be taken seriously – on top of the memory ripping her psyche apart, it was all going to _happen_ again.

"N… no…", she barely managed to whimper, some tears starting to roll down her cheeks.

"Wait a minute, were you just about to _beg_ me?" She felt the Ossetian beginning to slowly drag a nail across the side of her face, from her silvery eye down to her neck, then breasts. "Hell, that's much more progress than in my wildest expectations… I'd almost miss your usual wit."

As her torturer gave a sickening, triumphant cackle, Kaiko couldn't help but breaking down crying despite the latter's presence. At least now her failure could be considered as complete and irrevocable.

"Come on little one, don't be so sad; in the end I'm offering you a fun way to go. If it happens to be too short to our mutual liking, I can make it last a day longer... or two. And if you're a very good girl..." Xenia put on an innocent look after having closed her hands around the battered face in front of her, and jabbed a thumb on the particular spot between the jaw and the earlobe. "... I might even ask you to _hurt_ me. Now, what do you think?"

Onatopp sadly knew about pressure points all too well; as if the pain wasn't intense enough, judging from the tears, shaking and tongue biting it led to, she made obvious she had a great time dragging it out. When she came to have her fill of this, she carelessly let go of the head like a broken toy.

"A pity your boyfriend GoldenEye isn't around,  I'd have loved to have him too. But trust me, I shall savor every bit of what's to come." She stroked the half-Asian's hair, before moving away to roll her shoulders and give the end signal. "Райсоммæ уал." (Raysomma ual., _See you tomorrow._ )

_"All through… the soil…  
Up in those trees…"_

It might have felt like yet another lifetime to Kaiko, but it had _only_ been hours since the spider left Warehouse 8. At some point a lone guy she didn't know came to give her a bit of bread and water – just enough to prevent her from dying too quickly, but not to quench her gnawing hunger. Since then, nothing. She was left completely alone with her thoughts, and couldn't count on getting any sleep.

As she ended up finding out, being forced to sit in the same position for so long actually was part of the torture. The cramps in her arms and legs felt as if always more pins and needles were jabbing at each of the concerned muscles; and the pressure of her seat bones against her buttocks, besides being quite embarrassing, now bordered the unbearable. But there sadly was more, like the residual pain created by the repeated blows in her chest and stomach that worsened her shortness of breath… or other injuries she eventually quitted thinking about.

Flashbacks, as for them, kept roaming through her mind at random. Now that every effort she made over the years to drive back the worst of them had been nullified, she was forced to mentally relive the events without any more control on them than when they actually occurred. The two-faced using to have such an overwhelming power over her owed nothing to chance; neither did her yearning for payback while not wanting to hear about it.

It wasn't long until this led to the rekindling of her disgust with all the compromises she accepted just to stay alive. What did they get her, aside from having to crawl upon her hands and knees to the bastard and shut up? Not only would she die even less properly by having stooped to that and hopped from one mess of trouble to the next without so much as fulfilling her promise to get Jessi out of this; but Xenia intended to bring her back where it all started.

Sometimes, in the moments she climbed up a little from the abyss, she wondered whether her death would create some stir among the ranks of the Syndicate. Compared to during her early days in the organization, Janus hardly ever came to this place in person; as for the Ossetian, barely more often. For the people around who knew her, her current situation could be interpretable as one of them being considered as a serious threat – therefore, as a decline in the authority of the _boss_.

But then she wouldn't be the first member known to have been executed by the hierarchy. The much talked about Mesyats himself ended up squeezed between Xenia's thighs, and it precisely was the bleak fate she was about to meet. Perhaps that rumors about her involvement in Vegas' events would distinguish her from the previous corpses, but she couldn't imagine the two-faced didn't cover the whole thing up. In that case, his authority would remain untouched – or even worse, would be _strengthened_.

When getting that far she instantly fell back into the darkness, as it made her remember about the very last atrocity that awaited her; being literally chopped into pieces to be sold at retail. She knew what being treated like meat was, yet this was a whole new level… the sole visualizing of this turned her stomach. The гад and his favorite spider actually made a fine couple of bloodthirsty monsters; as long as the former could count the incoming money, the latter was free to do anything she could get a kick out of.

At some point, lastly, her wandering thought went to Golden. All the allusions about a potential relationship between the two of them left her cold now, still there was one idea she firmly held onto; _'If I die from this, never mind how, I hope he'll kick your teeth in.'_

_"You are ele... ctricity...  
And you are light..."_

"Сестричка... сестричка..." (Sestrichka... sestrichka..., _Sister... sister..._ )

There she was, completely losing her marbles. There wasn't any other explanation to distinctly recognizing Jessi's voice – even if it seemed to her that noise and cold air came from the roller shutter right before she heard it.

"Это я." (Eto ya., _It's me._ )

Opening her eyes, she still refused to believe it. . The silhouette standing in front of her had to be a bad joke of her brain, an illusion created by her persistent headache. What made her start to think otherwise, though, was the gentle pat on her shoulder. The exact same that always tried to console her in her lowest points… her crippled mind was very unlikely to produce an hallucination so comforting. 

"良かった。" (Yokatta., _Thank goodness._ ), she whispered.

Letting what she knew to be her friend's arms take some time to cradle her head verged on the miraculous. But her inner demons wouldn't be so compliant as to let go of her; it was her who was supposed to get the Russian girl out, not the other way round. Instead of relief, it was guilt that was flooding in.

Avoiding to waste any more time, Jessi eventually put down the backpack she carried to search for something. Despite the surrounding darkness, the shape of the object she took out was gloomily familiar; a small syringe. Another ghost from the distant past crashing the party, if there ever was one.

"What the hell… is that...?", the half-Asian's hoarse voice asked, meeting a nervous answer from the blond girl;

"All I know is that I have to give it to you as soon as possible."

Kaiko hesitated for some long seconds.  What good would that do? She knew she was too weak for so much as getting up. While she could blindly put her full faith in her friend,  the two-faced inevitably would find a way to either recapture or clip her if she escaped again… and she had already had enough of running and hiding.

"Сестричка… ты знаешь, я не оставлю тебя в его власти." (Sestrichka… ty znayesh', ya ne ostavlyu tebya v yego vlasti., _Sister… you know I won't leave you at his mercy._ )

She remained silent at first, as her thoughts having been read so easily felt a little too awkward. Did she really deserve to live after everything she'd done? She was tempted to give a negative answer and think that Jessi didn't need a millstone round her neck, yet aside from the fact  she couldn't deny how terrified she was by what was looming on the horizon, death wasn't a really satisfying option. She would get some rest, yes, but never _redemption_.

"Сестричка…"

"Go... go ahead."

Time wasn't on her side. She rather she didn't have to rely on chemicals, but circumstances were forcing her hand. Like always, she had to choose between raising the bet or folding her cards. Between a slim probability of survival, or none at all.

Turning a keychain flashlight on, the blond girl swept the room until spotting a large, well-oiled bolt cutter that leant against a wall. As she went get it, her friend thanked her lucky stars that Onatopp didn't come up with the idea of messing around with it. The monster made short work of the handcuffs' chain... better not to think about what it could have been used for up to there.

It didn't take much longer for the duct tape straps to become history too. Putting the cutter down and the tiny light in her mouth the blond girl got down to business at once, leading her friend to look away. Hopefully she achieved to administer the shot quick and smooth despite the poor conditions, and had thought to bring a bandage.

Even with help, pulling herself out of the goddamned chair was a strain to every single one of the half-Asian's muscles since the constricted blood flow temporarily made her limbs dead weight. She designated the location of her white jacket, limping along then having to struggle to get dressed as if connections between her brain and motor units had been severed. As completely unreasonable as escaping in such a state sounded, she had to convince herself it wasn't. Whatever was going to happen, no way she failed Jessi yet again.

It was while she was stuffing in one of her pockets the passport inconsiderately abandoned there that it struck her how suddenly her fatigue had decreased. The link with the injection was self-evident, which left her wondering what it exactly contained. This was nothing like an opiate, at least she knew that. Although she was far from being in her best shape, feeling so much more alert and focused was somewhat scary.

Meanwhile, the Russian girl was already busy lock picking the backdoor – an unrivaled skill of hers. A Kalashnikov AKS-74U, found heaven knew where, could be seen dangling from her shoulder. Kaiko gave a short sigh and tried to stretch her badly bruised legs while rubbing her sliced, blistered wrists, from which each half-pair of handcuffs still was loosely hanging. Actually, a glimmer of hope had been successfully reignited... no matter how dim and flickering.

_"You are... sound... itself...  
And you... are... flight. "_


	26. Chapter 26

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter twenty-six >>>>>_

_ >>>>> _ _Power Glove, "Motorcycle Cop"_

 

"Попался!" (Popalsya!, _Gotcha!_ )

The click the lock made when it eventually gave way was responsible for the Russian girl's low whoop of joy. But instead of opening right away, she waved her friend to come close. She showed something outside the glass of the door, on the left; Склад №9 (Sklad Nomer devyat'). More specifically, the security cam swinging back and forth above its entry.

"As soon as I open the door, hurry along the wall until the dead end. I'll catch up.", she said.

The half-Asian repressed a groan of disapproval. Warehouse 9 was the biggest and one of the most closely monitored booths around, since it housed a great deal of darknet server racks. But even putting this aside, there was another serious issue; there wasn't any passable way out in the area they would walk in. All the external walls were too high and grip-less to be climbed, let alone the barbed wire mounted on top.

Using the front entrance sadly wasn't a much better idea, because they would have to slink along Warehouse 6 – the jealously guarded weapons cache, or in other words the actual heart of the facility. Achieving this undetected would take a miracle, but she didn't know any escape route other than the alley in front of it. In that regard, going through the roller shutter would have been quicker and safer; at least it'd have prevented them from having to turn up as close of the central guardhouse as they were about to.

Yet she didn't find any motivation to object to Jessi's plan. First, time was short, and then the drug combined to her initial exhaustion made her feel like she was running on autopilot. That was why she didn't make any comment and took the bolt cutter now held out to her. The risk of being spotted having to be taken anyway, a good blunt weapon would be much needed.

When the camera was looking where she wasn't, she shot out and backed against the outer wall like she had been told. Her revitalized strength and lack of sensitivity to ambient cold were definitely abnormal, but her primary concern was about the CCTV and the guardhouse… that one being right in front of her, scarcely masked by a parked truck. Fortunately the left corner of the façade wasn't too far away and she could evade the harsh glare of the floodlight located there, slipping into the passage between Warehouses 8 and 9.

Continuing straight until reaching a separation fence, she suddenly turned around hearing some noise. Someone just exited the guardhouse. She cowered in the darkest corner possible, her heart starting to pound as she prayed for neither of them having been seen. The interloper lazily shuffled around for a little while, a cigarette's tip glowing red at his mouth level. He apparently wasn't aware of her presence, and yet she was trembling like a hunted animal. _'Go away… for God's sake go away!'_

Incredibly enough, her silent begging was answered. The man finally put his smoke out under his foot and went out of her sight. She had a discreet sigh of relief, which might as well have been made double when Jessi eventually showed up. An engine started; the earlier truck likely was departing. The blond girl pointed at a bay on their right, extending Warehouse 9's front wall. Now it made perfect sense to have gone that way; there was a breach in this section of the fence, permitting easy access to the main alley _without_ coming too close to Warehouse 6.

Visibly not wanting to waste any time Jessi got down to climbing the concrete base of the fence, then reached out for the half-Asian. It was at this moment the latter acknowledged she shouldn't have taken the earlier _'easy'_ for granted. Hoisting herself up proved to be as incredibly difficult as if she never did it before... and to add insult to the injury, she actually might not have been able to carry that out without help.

Once coming through she quickly figured out where they just got to. On her left, beyond the said alley, was another fence; its rolling gate was left open and located straight ahead from their position. On her right was the sidewall of Warehouse 9, bordered by a rusty container. Suddenly she was drawn into the gap in between by her Russian friend, as the moving truck's headlights illuminated the asphalt.

The vehicle kept going until turning to the gate, where it took a brief stop. Distant voice echoes betrayed the presence of guards on its right, behind the fence. Jessi beckoned Kaiko to follow and they scrambled behind the truck, a move justified by the fact it was a blind spot for the driver. When he started to drive away both the young women followed the motion, until they had enough space for sneaking after the left side of the fence unseen.

They had just managed to quit the most restricted area of the facility – should they have glanced at the opposite section of the fence, they'd have seen the following red painted letters;

 _Пропуск постоянно носить на видном месте. Необходим доступ 1 уровня._ ( _Propusk postoyanno nosit' na vidnom meste. Neobkhodim dostup 1 urovnya._ , Wear your badge in a visible location. Level 1 access required.)

Yet again they had slipped behind an empty shipping crate – the first of a line of three laying along the newly-reached edge of Warehouse 5 –, which effectively shielded them from the guards' eyes despite the unsafe light level around. Benefiting from the noise made by the truck they quickly moved to the second container, but not much further. The vehicle was too far away now, and the henchmen were close enough to be distinctly heard; hence so did they.

"Чёрт, мне холодно!" (Chort, mne kholodno!, _Damn, I'm freezing!_ )

That voice obviously belonged to a new guy over at the Syndicate. Nighttime standing around was the kind of job handed to such people, and that one still thought that complaining would change something about it… his naivety almost was touching. It wouldn't be very long until disillusion started to kick in.

"Потерпи. Через час будет смена." (Poterpi. Cherez chas budet smena., _Hang on. Shift change is in an hour._ )

The one who answered that, as for him, had a name – _Nikolai Matveevich Dyomin_ , if she remembered well. He arrived a bit less than a year ago and allegedly had a few side businesses, thus wasn't high up enough to skip freezing his butt off together with a greenhorn.

"Да уж, им лучше поторопиться." (Da uzh, im luchshe potoropit'sya., _Well, they better hurry._ ), the latter grumbled.

Except for Jessi, Kaiko never really had friends among the low-class Janusians. Besides her being a foreign woman and faces changing quite frequently, she had been accused more often than not of licking the boss's boots… or worse. Despite this, having them ready to shoot her down at sight all of a sudden felt weird. They might not be pals to her, but she actually came to respect a handful of them over the years – and, until proven otherwise, that seemed to be mutual.

Her thoughts were cut off when the blond girl decided to ignore the vicinity of the guards and move on, creeping up to the third container on most silent feet since waiting an hour for the next shift was much more than they could afford. The half-Asian soon did the same, but at one point what entered her sight turned her to stone. As she couldn't help but let her panic level dangerously rise up, her friend pulled her arm until the two of them leant flat against the crate's side. When she was sent an inquiring elbow, her only answer was to silently move her lips to say _'Buyan'_ … which didn't fail at widening the Jessi's eyes at once.

Buyan, the Russian word for _'brawler'_ , was the name of the Caucasian Shepherd the facility's staff kept for guard duty.  The vicious monster never seemed to like anyone, not even its masters; and when it was sicced on intruders an all-out rampage had to be expected. Their bad luck was such that its unidentified handler chose this very moment to go on patrol, and had already reached the area.

That was when Kaiko noticed her teeth were chattering – from cold, fright, or both, she didn't know. In any case, she gathered all her will to stop it right away and breathe as slowly as possible, just like Jessi did. Their current situation didn't leave them with a whole lot of options; as direct fight was out of the question, they had to stay absolutely still… and hope that Buyan knew them enough to leave them alone.

"Эй, приятель, у тебя прикурить есть?" (Ey, priyatel', u tebya prikurit' yest'?, _Hey buddy, you got a light?_ ), the greenhorn eventually could be heard asking either Nikolai or the dog handler.

The beast barking at him made his next line much less confident;

"Ладно, ладно, успокойся…" (Ladno, ladno, uspokoysya _…, Alright, alright, chill out…_ )

They waited a bit more, but nothing else happened. To all appearances, the field was theirs. They allowed themselves a long exhalation of relief, then returned to sliding along the container; soon hitting the narrow space between it and the very last fence that'd block their path to next part of the area. Taking a look from that spot, it turned out that another security cam was facing them. Fortunately it was attached on Warehouse 4, the loading zone at the other end of which the guards stood, so its range likely wasn't long enough for it to detect them.

On the assumption that Buyan and its handler were heading to somewhere else, they got to bypassing the said fence. This time it wasn't too hard – Nikolai and his greenhorn friend were too far away for seeing them. They directly crossed the parking bay on their left, to crouch behind a concrete Jersey barrier.

Behind it was the second guardhouse around, which might well be the last impediment in their escape. The problem was, they had no choice but walk past it despite the windows on its front. They looked at each other for a little while, undecided on what to do; only thing they both knew full well was that they had to make it quick, as their hiding place obviously wouldn't last long.

Jessi positioned herself at the end of the barrier, nudging Kaiko to follow. When the latter was at her level, the blond girl briefly pointed a finger forward. Her friend hesitated for some seconds, then ended up understanding what that meant – and incidentally the outcome of the whole plan. About twenty meters away, behind a stack of containers located just next to Warehouse 2, was their ticket out of here; the only wire mesh fence around. With the bolt cutter they brought, getting through would be longer than difficult.

Since they acknowledged they couldn't do much more than just remaining squatted and beseech all the deities they could think of for no one noticing them, they resumed their getaway once again. After having taken a good look around, they skirted the concrete obstacle, then crawled under the guardhouse's panes. There were people inside, no doubt; light could be seen through the Venetian blinds, and sounds could be heard.

It inevitably increased the half-Asian's stress as she progressed; her condition already made it difficult, the possibility of someone going out was rather unwelcome. Still she achieved to carry out the crossing in one stretch, in spite of the time she took. She tried to get up as soon as catching up with Jessi, but she perhaps shouldn't have. Doing it so quickly made her dizzy; she tried to use the bolt cutter as a cane to hold herself up, but its curved blades slipped on the ground… causing the tool to heavily land on the asphalt.

 

From then on, everything went awfully fast. Someone scrambled out before they could think of a backup plan, and the sole word he shouted stirred up all those inside;

"Вторжение!" (Vtorzheniye!, _Intruders!_ )

The events totally turned Kaiko around,  and the blond girl must have felt it; she quickly grabbed the disoriented half-Asian by the arm and said a few quick words to her – though she hadn't the patience anymore to speak in English;

"Открой проход, а остальное – моё дело." (Otkroy prokhod, a ostal'noye – moyo delo. _Open the passage, the rest's my business._ )

Focusing only on this last line, Kaiko picked up the cutter and hurried to the mesh fence. As she did she couldn't but watch her friend grab the AKS-74U from her back and load it. The guards were first at opening fire, which made the blond girl cover behind a barrel. The half-Asian got down to work all the more quickly, slipping behind the container stack and ignoring her generalized body soreness. 

Straining her arm muscles she opened and closed the cutter's jaws over and over again, severing wire after wire, doing her best to forget about the shootout behind her. Yet at one particular moment she suddenly stopped cutting; it was when hearing a scream. _Jessi's scream_. Glancing at its source got her running back at once. Buyan had already pounced on the blond girl without a single bark, and even if she was struggling nothing being done would result in her being torn to pieces.

Speeding up without minding the bullets that could be aimed at her, Kaiko mechanically started to raise the bolt cutter up. The beast didn't notice her, too busy trying to bite its prey. That's how it took hard the swung tool on the side of its head, just like a pitched baseball hit by a bat. The blow successfully stunned Buyan, but a second one came all the same to make it let go of the Russian girl, as well as to ensure it was _at least_ unconscious.

Nobody shot up to there, perhaps worrying to hit the dog. Jessi grabbed the Kalashnikov she had dropped earlier, turning it towards the men instead of getting up. The ensuing barrage of bullets made them take cover, permitting the two young women to rush to the fence. The passage still wasn't totally open, though. Now that they were both behind the crate stack, the blond girl reached in her pack for a fresh magazine, so she had the half-Asian's back while the latter cut the last bits of the netting that stood in their way.

Rounds whistled always closer, but when the job was finally done they didn't even care anymore. They went through the opening, leaving the bloody bolt cutter behind, and helped each other getting on their feet. Then they started to run along the empty street… at long last.


	27. Chapter 27

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter twenty-seven >>>>>_

_ >>>>> _ _Scanners, "Control" (Carpenter Brut remix)_

_"When the sirens call…  
Will you have no control…?_

_So your heart… it aches…  
'Cause you were born without brakes…"_

Her lungs and legs were burning, making her pace ineluctably slow down, but nothing on Earth would have made Kaiko stop. Jessi was leading the way, and that was the one thing she needed to aim her attention on. She eventually identified a blue Lada Samara as their objective, since the blond girl rushed into it. Hearing the engine starting, she used her last resources to speed up; Jessi drove off as soon as she was inside too. Having to sit again was badly hurting the half-Asian, but she had to ignore it lacking any other option.

At first the atmosphere was somehow mystifying. Heaven knew how many things they had to tell each other, and yet neither of them spoke right away. The car turned to the first lane it met when the glare of headlights reflected in the rear-view mirror rather than just speeding down the large straight road ahead, starting to weave from street to street. It was only then that some sparse words were let out.

"If it gets bad back there, go ahead and pepper them.", the Russian girl said, nodding at the carbine and backpack at her passenger's feet. "We can't let anyone be upon us before we get home."

" _Home_?!"

The word had jumped out at Kaiko, as it obviously was the first place their pursuers would look.

"I left the 'Vette in there not to arouse suspicion.", Jessi explained.

 _'Alright'_ , now that was a legit reason. A faster car than the Samara would certainly help to escape, and their C4 Corvette, while being easily identifiable, indeed was perfect for the job. Kaiko managed to relax for some seconds, but a question suddenly occurring to her ruined it.

"What if it's lojacked?"

Her friend kept silent for a bit, as she might have not considered that possibility – if a tracking device was planted on their car, then it'd be impossible for them to disappear from the two-faced's radars. She remained quite calm though, eventually stating;

"Ну (Nu, _Well_ )… we'll have to go full throttle anyway."

Even though the passenger should have had a bunch of other questions to ask, her mind was too blank for that. Besides, as the blond girl seemed to perfectly know what she was doing, there was just one important thing to be aware of for the time being.

"And… where are we going?"

"To Rzhevka.", Jessi answered. "There's supposed to be a plane waiting to take us to safety."

For all the half-Asian knew, Rzhevka was an area located some ten kilometers northeast of St Petersburg; it wasn't impossible that an airfield could be found there. But the most interesting part was that she didn't remember Janus owned something in there… which meant he shouldn't have any reinforcements on site.

"How would you know?", she asked again.

"It's a long story. I promise I'll tell you when everything's over."

Kaiko gave a slight noncommittal nod, starting to check the AKS with some sort of odd fascination. The metal frame was weathered with age and use, and had a lot of scratches; the wooden hand guard had gained a dark patina over the years. Also, the serial number had been filed off, but the arsenal code – a star, meaning that it had been manufactured in the Tula Arms Plant – and year of production – _'91'_ – were almost intact on the trunnion block. Overall, it much looked like one of the old, worn out weapons the Syndicate used to sell to broke customers.

In the bag she found three clips full of ammo, or in other words no less than ninety 5.45mm rounds. She then detached the current magazine from the weapon, emptying it on her lap, and unloaded the chamber. Slowly putting each of them back into the plastic box, she could count the extra cartridges she had at her disposal; fourteen. Even though the total number would shrink all too rapidly, it should be enough to stand up to their adversaries for a little while.

_"There’s a golden age…  
Through the bars of your cage…_

_Through a twist… of fate…  
You became what you hate."_

They arrived in the familiar Primakov Street a few long minutes later. No particular event happened meanwhile, neither anyone catching up with them nor their tongues loosening even in a little way. After stopping the Lada at their block they both briskly went out, moving to the private alley used as a parking lot by people who lived there; their eighties coupé was at its usual place, its silver bodywork glowing orange in the sodium lights.

The half-Asian took a final look at the concrete, tree-surrounded building in front of her. She had lived here for almost five years, and now was about to leave it behind along with all the memories it held once and for all; but she felt nothing about it. No thought, no joy, no regret. She was standing still in the cold wind, holding a rifle as weary as she was in her hands.

"Open the flap, please."

The Russian girl had taken a jerry can out of the Samara's trunk, and now was handing her the car keys. Kaiko took them and complied immediately, raising the lid at the rear of the vehicle then removing the fuel cap. Her friend placed a funnel therein, and started to pour gas from the can. Such a precaution was important, as fuel being siphoned out of parked cars was quite frequent in the neighborhood; and then what was to come would be easier to handle with a full tank.

When she was done Jessi went put the can and funnel back into the blue car, then moved to behind the Corvette's wheel and turned on the ignition. The dashboard lit up, showing two colored curves – the speedometer and tachometer – among a number of orange digits and other gauges. She popped the headlamps up and drove to the end of the alley. Stopping there, she turned to her passenger and said;

"За дело." (Za delo., _Let's do this_.)

The latter's only reply was to sharply load the Kalashnikov and give another nod. The blond girl had a smile; the car began roaring through the night at once.

_"Yeah you became what you hate...  
You gave into them all..._

_Through a twist... of fate...  
You will be sorry too late..."_

In the seconds after they entered Marshal Govorov Street a vehicle appeared behind theirs – unidentifiable since it had its high beams on. Jessi didn't take her eyes off the road, but stepped on the gas a little more. When she did the vehicle accelerated even faster, confirming that it was coming for their hides. She squinted, and without further ado her foot went all the way down.

It fully demonstrated the usefulness of having swapped the V8 engine for a newer one; the still unknown vehicle barely had enough power to keep up, resulting in one of its passengers opening fire at them. But the blond girl had anticipated the move, and had swerved to another lane – it was a chance that most of Piter's streets were fairly wide, and that there wasn’t too much traffic at this hour of the night.

The half-Asian, as for her, had already rolled down the window at her side and aimed the carbine backwards. Her broken finger forced her to hold her weapon left-handed regardless of her missing nails, and the crosswind wasn’t helping the balance. She unfolded the metal stock and wedged it under her armpit, holding the dust cover with her right hand and resting the hand guard on the edge of the window frame – much like a machine gun. The posture wasn't that comfortable, but too much pain in her fingers would make her unable to shoot straight.

Thanks to the 'Vette having moved to the left, she happened to have a clear shot to the car at their tail – a Nissan Almera, as it turned out –, despite the fact that pressing the trigger was an ordeal. Each discharged round unusually sounded even more deafening than the last, making her send only short bursts in order to keep her eyes open. Sadly one of these blasts hit a passing van instead of the intended target, and other bullets went astray.

Jessi preferred to back off at this point, speeding up until the rev-counter's curve rose up into the red not to lose velocity when shifting gear; the Almera was soon too far behind to be a real threat anymore. During downtime her passenger replaced her empty clip as best as she could, gasping for breath and ears ringing. For a brief moment all looked as if they had successfully outrun their pursuers… and yet the following seconds came very close of costing their lives.

On arriving at the next crossroads, they both turned their heads when other high beams came from the left. The area around was quite open, so they could see the incoming vehicle. It was a bulky, classic Lada Niva, whose bull bars and current speed couldn't be mistaken; they were those of a ramming car meant to cut them off.

"Ё-моё!" (Yo-moyo!, _Holy crap!_ )

Given the monster's size, a collision would squash their flimsy Corvette like a bug – a realization that must have resulted in the blond girl's scream. But her desperate instinct wouldn't let it happen so easily. She slammed on the brakes and downshifted, yet by doing so the Niva came to stop in the middle of the path, and her own speed was too high to avoid the 4x4 by simply skirting it. However she had a large enough gap with the sidewalk to pull one last ace out of her sleeve; she started to flick the steering wheel right, pulled the handbrake, and then made a hard left while pushing the throttle again.

The world suddenly felt like frozen in slow motion. The silver car made a close drift around the monster's back, and the momentum made it slide across the intersection until its rear left fender hit a curb at the opposite side. The impact was harsh, making Jessi hang onto the wheel and slamming petrified Kaiko onto the door. Fortunately for the latter the window still was lowered, saving her head from crashing into the glass.

They looked at each other, their eyes blown wide open by the shock of what just happened. They didn't have much more time to collect their thoughts; a civilian car was coming at them, making the Russian girl promptly move the 'Vette off to resume their course. The goddamned Niva was quick at following them all the same, and before long a black Mercedes W205 emerged from the right to sandwich them.

A gunner appeared at a window of the car in front of them, but the fact she had to shoot with her left hand bothered the half-Asian when she tried to take aim at him. Her driver tried to dodge from one lane to another not to take any bullet, but each time she did the Mercedes moved to stand in her way… and to make matters worse, the 4x4 was heading right to rear-end them.

Several shots were fired; the first that went through the windshield continued its way between them and lodged itself in the rear glass. Another hit Jessi – since she couldn't both duck and drive – making her yell in pain;

"Пришей этого урода!" (Prishey etogo uroda!, _Waste that bastard!_ )

Now holding the AKS-74U like a handgun, the passenger tried to give it more stability by pressing it against the coupé's front pillar. She opened fire, and meanwhile the blond girl took a large swerve to the wrong side of the road. Kaiko's entire magazine was discharged across the black car as a consequence; the gunman fell backwards, his next shots went wild, the back window exploded and the bodywork was left littered with holes.

As the swerve had been performed just when the Niva reached them, the monster directly crashed into the Mercedes. The ‘Vette had already gone back into the normal running direction to cross, and made a tight right corner to enter Obvodnyy Canal. Still other vehicles with the brights on appeared, so it crossed a bridge to the left side and its engine further was pushed to its limits. But despite the rapidly increasing kilometers on the trip odometer, the others seemed harder to shake off than the earlier Nissan.

After all, even if the fugitives' location was tracked, where they were heading to most likely was unknown; in that case the people on their trail had no other choice than catching them to overcome their lag. The half Asian tried to shoot those on the opposite bank getting to their level, but she recoiled back into the interior when well-aimed fire smashed the side view mirror next to her. In a sudden fit of rage she retaliated by blasting at where that came from, regardless of her move's effectiveness.

While none of those behind had bridged the gap yet, two cars waited at the end of the canal. Coming across backup units in that particular area wasn't surprising considering how dangerously near the Tretyak headquarters were of the current location. Jessi drifted left onto Kremenchugskaya Street before the newcomers could get close enough of them; more bullets finished off the Corvette's rear windshield as it raced along the road. Some dodges and weaves later it entered Nevsky Prospect – the city's arterial street –… eventually rolling headlights down and hiding in a circular alley behind a monument to the eponymous Alexander Nevsky.

_"But I’m over you...  
Are you over me... too...?"_

"What are you doing…?"

Stress was leaking out of Kaiko's line. Their pursuers could spot them any second, and the blond girl just stopped there. _Stopped_.

"Waiting for the right timing.", the latter answered, her evasive tone giving away anxiety of her own.

The half-Asian wanted to ask _'What for...?'_ , but somehow felt she'd better let it slide – she wouldn't do anything about it anyway. Thankfully nobody hostile was to be seen as for now, but for how long?

After a moment, Jessi restarted the engine without warning and abruptly accelerated. She then peeled out to the right, making the tires squeal in the process. A car immediately chased them, and soon some of the earlier ones barged in. They were about to engage on Alexander Nevsky Bridge when Kaiko understood what the Russian girl meant by _'right timing'_ ; the bascule bridge had already started to slowly open up. They would be stuck at this side of the Neva River if they reached the end of the first span too late.

To get a running start the driver obviously had put the pedal to the metal. The V8 was loudly revving up, the curves on the retro futuristic dashboard were steadily increasing; but however fast the half-Asian's heart was racing her eyes wouldn't close. On the other bank, Janus' ivory tower stood as though helplessly watching their escape.

"Посмотри на нас, Двуличный... просто посмотри на нас!" (Posmotri na nas, Dvulichnyy... prosto posmotri na nas!, _Look at us,_ _Two-faced… just look at us!_ )

_"So sweet... so cold...  
You must... follow..._

_It takes... control."_


	28. Chapter 28

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter twenty-eight >>>>>_

_ >>>>> _ _GUNSHIP, "Tech Noir"_

_"Feel the… breeze… I feel alive…  
Will you… come… away with me…?"_

Just as Jessi shouted, the point of no return was passed. The C4 Corvette was running at full speed on the take-off ramp, and the widening space between the spans now was so close at hand that the slightest hesitation would be fatal. That most certainly was why the Russian girl didn't even react when the mirrors showed a dark gray Mazda RX-8 breaking from the pack behind – whether it was supercharged or not, it was too late to care about it.

The slope was getting steeper every second, and it was a question of time before  gravity took over. As the bitter end ineluctably closed in, Kaiko's thoughts crumbled until they couldn't do anything but oscillate between the last two available options; _'do'_ or _'die'_. No sooner they did that the front wheels left the ground. The 'Vette went airborne for a surreal moment… to land on the same wheels and come down hard on its rear ones while going downhill.

Somehow the blond girl managed to maintain control of the vehicle, and even to gun it forward as if nothing happened. By the instant she gazed at the inner mirror, making the half-Asian thoughtlessly do the same, the Mazda could be seen flying through the air. A split second later, the unthinkable happened; not only the gray car successfully carried out the jump too, but immediately surged in pursuit.

At this very moment a thundering bang was heard, followed by a no less loud splash. Upon reflection, likely another vehicle from the flock left on the opposite side of the Neva didn't want to wait three hours until the drawbridges in the area were lowered or do a huge detour to get to them, but jumped too late – hence ran into the edge of the span, then plunged into the river after being pushed back by the impact.

But Kaiko's attention didn't linger long on this. Some other cars had burst into view as the Corvette blasted along Zanevskiy Prospect, this time coming without a doubt from the Tretyak tower. The main problem with those wasn't actually their number, but rather that one of them came close to the Mazda... and made the latter slow down for a bit, one of its passengers being handed a large item wrapped in cloth.

The Japanese sports car regained acceleration after the receipt. It turned left at the first intersection it crossed to stay behind the Corvette, and steadily closed the gap between them. Being heavier the eighties coupé was at a disadvantage here, even in overdrive; and then both the fugitives caught a glimpse at what was removed from the earlier wrapping. A PKP _Pecheneg_... one of these mean bastards whose ammo could pierce through metal like it was paper.

Again Jessi had to weave her ride as bullets stormed in. The half-Asian's first reflex was to brandish her AKS and position herself to shoot back, oblivious of how hopeless she'd be at tackling machine gun fire with a weapon that small. Fortunately her friend grabbed her arm right when she stuck her head out of the window, and yelled a powerful _'Нет!'_ ( _Nyet!_ , No!) that cooled her jets quick enough to avoid herself getting shredded by incoming slugs.

Though this led to quite unpleasant consequences. The Kalashnikov carbine fell outside the car in the process, not leaving any chance for retrieval; and besides the driver had been distracted for too long, making her vehicle an easy target all the time she didn't keep jerking it out of the way. Since Kaiko didn't notice the Russian girl bending down, she didn't immediately understand what she was supposed to do when feeling Jessi's arm around her neck.

_"You'll be... my...  focus...  
Could this be... could this be... the hard way..."_

A hail of gunfire just was coming from behind them. Rounds hit the trunk, with some likely puncturing the tank; others went through the no more existing windshield. The blond girl succeeded at forcing her friend's head down, but bullets still passed through the headrest before she got it completely done.  At least one ended up in the shielding arm, given how harrowing the scream that followed was. No question that the 'Vette went out of hand for some seconds, until slamming against a sidewalk railing in Yakornaya Street.

At this point Jessi distinctly was sobbing, and yet she found the courage to set off again despite the Mazda barreling down on them. In retrospect, there were two reasons for this. First, none of the cars that came from the Tretyak headquarters had followed; second, it had been a little while since sirens could be heard drawing nearer and nearer. Should policemen catch up with them, neutralizing the Pecheneg would be their primary objective… which would give the fugitives an opportunity to make it out alive.

The result was the Corvette going in the opposite direction from the RX-8, along the side from which the gunner couldn't shoot. The first police cruiser appeared not long after, coming straight towards them. As soon as it could, the silver coupé turned to the left, entering a narrow street that'd eventually make it go back to Yakornaya. The Japanese car kept behind, but now had the cops on its tail.

Most of the shots fired by the PKP went into the various cars parked in the alley, but ducking was far from useless. The half-Asian even was covering her ears, no longer able to repress the fright caused by the bullets whistling on and on past her head. A siren suddenly howled on the left, and she felt the 'Vette making a sharp right turn, seemingly rubbing against a wall and completely losing its dangling right mirror in doing so.

When she sat back up, it appeared that they had successfully got out of the alley before a police car blocked the exit – leaving the Mazda surrounded by cops. Another pair of cruisers was already on their trail, but was slow enough to be shaken off by quickly weaving from one street to another. As for now, hence, the coast was _clear_.

Jessi's jubilation came out in a burst of wild, almost manic laughter; Kaiko, as for her, kept quiet. Nothing felt real anymore, as if all had gone horribly wrong in some way. The Pecheneg's rounds might as well have torn them to pieces, or they could have crashed  at some stage, and her dying imagination still would be trying its best to produce a comforting figment.

"You OK?"

She looked at the Russian girl with a vacant stare when feeling the light bump on her shoulder, giving a faint nod as her sole response.

"Good.", Jessi said, sounding like she needed to reassure herself just as much. "That's... that's all that matters."

_"Before… you save me…  
Just wait your turn…_

_Look at me now…  
Steady… as we burn…"_

On the way out of Piter, wooded suburbs rapidly replaced the customary blocks of flats and industrial plants. Kaiko's eyes were following the cone of the headlights, and she could feel the bumps of the road on her seat every now and then. Despite some resilient, indefinite anxiety, her aberrant energy was gone and her focus was about to fade away in turn. But, as contradictory as it sounded, she was wide awake all the same.

They had already gone past the Rzhevka area, but for some reason they had continued hitting the road without making any stop in there. Even if the half-Asian eventually noticed it, she didn't point it out; she hadn't seen any control tower or wind sock yet, and it made sense that the airfield they were heading to was located outside the city.

Anyway, the most important thing was that calm had returned at last. The poor 'Vette had had a hard time, but hopefully it'd take them to their destination before giving up the ghost. Incidentally, it wasn't hard to guess from her perceptible shortness of breath that Jessi wasn't doing so well either. To clear out of the goddamned country, what they needed now was that nothing else went badly. Failing that, they wouldn't survive the slightest confrontation coming in their path.

At the present moment, she couldn't have such thoughts anyway. Everything had got muddled together in her mind, from fear and rage to relief and hope – as if she was out of her own body, lost among images that weren't more meaningful when taken as a whole than separately. Since her eyes refused to close, the only thing she had acute awareness of was that she was anything but dreaming. Not sure if that made a substantial difference, though.

It could have been the starting point of her recovery from all she went through over recent days, but it sadly happened to be too much to ask. Of all her cognitive abilities, her perception came to be pretty much restored, pulling her back into herself; she owed that to a blinding white light coming from above, accompanied by approaching rotor noise. An helicopter had been dispatched after them, that meant.

"Чёрт побери..." (Chort poberi..., _Goddammit..._ ) Jessi's voice was trembling.

It was known that Janus kept MD-600Ns at a couple of his cache sites, but a quick look out of the car windows revealed that one to be a wider Eurocopter AS355  with the word 'ПОЛИЦИЯ' (Politsiya, _Police_ ) marked on it. Whether the two-faced rang some connections or the earlier chase roused the cops more than usual, their lives had just been jeopardized. Regular police indeed didn't use helicopters, but OMON – the Russian SWAT – did.

As could be expected, the searchlight stuck to them and ended up fully surrounding their ride. It resulted in a several minutes long race, in which no shot was fired; but it precisely was the absence of any real event that made the tension grow to unbearable heights. It was all about keeping a cool head despite not knowing what the other side was up to. For instance, if a sniper up there decided to take them out... little could be done against it.

Perhaps their greatest luck was that they had entered the village of Kovalyovo in the meantime. The odds of collateral damage in a populated area were higher than the OMON squad could afford not to stir attention, particularly if the гад hired it out. Moreover an old road sign showed the end of the road to be less than a kilometer away, and runways soon could be made out through the adjacent blocks and vegetation.

First thing that struck Kaiko seeing these was that the size of the place wasn't the one of a country airfield. In fact, it was a decommissioned civilian airport, on the verge of being turned into a huge residential district… a shame for those who loved brown field sites. However, now that urban density had dropped the guys in the chopper didn't have the courtesy of delaying hostilities even just a second longer.

They were heading for the ground control building when the first shot was fired. Hard to miss that one, since it poked the roof until shattering the instrument panel. This could only mean one thing; a Vintorez rifle loaded with armor-piercing ammunition was aimed at their heads. Because of Jessi getting panicky from this, the engine stalled – leaving them within some fifty meters of a safe refuge. To put it simple, now either they ran under fire or bade farewell to each other.

Both young women looked at each other, not needing a single word to agree on the first option however foolish it was. The goddamned sniper thus didn't bother taking another shot into the passenger compartment, having the Russian girl springing out of it. Despite how much easier the hit had been made, she still avoided another bullet while going round to help Kaiko out of her seat. The consequence was the shooter changing strategy, and Jessi instantly falling over due to a round gone into her leg.

The half-Asian's last hopes for an escape died with that final blow, but somehow she felt things had to be ended with dignity. She got out of the 'Vette, struggled to drag herself to her friend; once it was done, she knelt and lifted the latter up to take her into her arms. The shaking blond girl curled up against her, but remained silent; and so Kaiko gazed at the OMON marksman as he prepared for the shot, her whole being frozen like a cat in headlights.

_"Guided by voices…  
It's you… and me."_


	29. Chapter 29

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter twenty-nine >>>>>_

_ >>>>> _ _David Bowie, "Space Oddity"_

 _"Ground Control to Major Tom... (ten, nine, eight, seven, six...)_  
_Commencing countdown... engines on... (five, four, three...)_  
_Check ignition... and may God's love be with you... (two, one, liftoff.)"_

The rotor blades were slashing through the calm of the night, adding an intimidating tune to the inescapable death from above. The sniper was sitting on the edge of the hovering chopper, looking carefully into his scope. He wouldn't miss this time; all would be quick, efficient, pain-free. One bullet for the half-Asian's head, one for the Russian's – just as Janus must have ordered. At least one wouldn't go without the other.

Though something was wrong, and since she was staring wide-eyed at the shooter Kaiko came to notice it. Instead of proceeding with the execution right away he had moved his aim towards another target, apparently located behind the two fugitives. He squeezed the trigger once, letting out a bullet so effectively suppressed that the helicopter's noise made it almost impossible to hear. What happened next was the situation literally spiraling out of control.

An unidentified object suddenly hissed through the open sliding door he was at. The cockpit starting to fill with thick, red smoke dispelled any doubt about what it was; a distress flare. Hearing the engine rev up and down in an erratic manner, Jessi slowly turned her head around. Her friend still hugged her tight, without any better understanding of what the hell was going on. The consequence was them watching as the aircraft went into a tailspin, before it ended up crashing in a nearby pine forest.

Both of them were startled by the violent thunder of smashed trees and twisted metal that ensued. As the trail of smoke the helo left behind was gradually clearing, they had a baffled look at each other. Hard to tell what they really felt at that very instant. It happened so fast, so unexpectedly, that perhaps they didn't even realize yet that everything was over; that on top of having escaped such a close brush with death _together_ , they were _safe_ now. But if they did, a single interrogation would overwhelm any other possible thought – _'how?'_

_"This is Ground Control… to Major Tom…  
You've really made the grade…_

_And the papers want to know... whose shirts you wear…  
Now it's time to leave the capsule… if you dare…"_

A flashlight illuminated them from behind, with a masculine voice asking;

"Вы Джессика Иринеевна и Кайко Морикава?" (Vy Dzhessika Irineyevna i Kayko Morikava?, _Are you Jessika Irineyevna and Kaiko Morikawa?_ )

The question resounded in the silence that had slammed down after the crash. The half-Asian loosened her embrace as she jerked her head towards the one who spoke; all she managed to make out in the bright glow of the torch was the fur-lined aviator jacket  and the lowered flare gun. The blond girl tried to raise herself up a bit, to let out an audible enough answer while Kaiko helped her keep steady.

"Да!" (Da!, _Yes!_ )

The man waved his gun-wielding hand to urge them on, standing ready to get going.

"Давайте сюда, быстрее!" (Davayte syuda, bystreye!, _Come on over here, quick!_ )

Jessi immediately went for getting up, but her leg was too badly injured to let her do so without assistance. The half-Asian had to catch her Russian friend before she fell back down, then to struggle to get on her feet despite the extra strain on her weakened body. She knew she wouldn't have the strength to support both their weights, hence she directly addressed the man as loud and clear as she could;

"Она не может ходить." (Ona ne mozhet khodit'., _She can't walk._ )

In normal times she wouldn't have trusted a complete stranger that quickly, but as everything pointed to him being their last minute savior not even a hint of suspicion arose in her mind. In fact, she was so empty inside that her sole concern was about taking flight with Jessi… whatever that meant. Fortunately for them the guy came to help upon hearing the last line, and got to carrying the blond girl on his back.

Kaiko followed them, though at a sluggish pace. The man must have foreseen it, having handed her his torch before setting off. Although she'd have had little chance to get lost, the glow in her hands gave her a sense of security which she much needed. Since the 'Vette now was as much of a complete bust as she and Jessi were, there wasn't any way out or even protection against the slightest turn of events. Enough to seriously worry about, and yet she had to move forward. So better to focus on the lamp's beam rather than on how exposed she was dragging herself along.

The three of them skirted the control tower – an inverted pyramid slice sitting on a cuboid of rotting concrete, flanked by rusting guardrails and crowned with long antennae pointed skyward –, to access the runways through a wrecked wire fence. Up ahead, like a light at the end of the tunnel, the promised escape plane was waiting for them.

It was a red, yellow-lined Technoavia SM-94; not quite new and surprisingly obtrusive, but not that it really mattered. As long as it could fly them far away from the two-faced's fury whatever form the latter took, and wasn't just a mirage in the desert, it'd fit the bill.

"Маши фонариком!" (Mashi fonarikom!, _Wave the torch!_ ), the man commanded as they stepped in full view of the pilot.

The lone propeller on the snout started to turn after the half-Asian complied, and soon the aircraft appeared ready for takeoff. The message was pretty explicit; _'time to leave'_. As they kept moving closer, the copilot door opened. A crew member came out of it, to stand on the wing below and apparently deal with sliding the passenger seat forward. The flare shooter already was getting Jessi on the said wing; the other man helped her inside.

Seeing Kaiko having always more trouble putting one foot in front of the other, the shooter was kind enough – or impatient – as to go support her as she walked. For that she mentally thanked him, not feeling able to speak over  the plane noise. He hoisted her on the wing too, so she could crawl through the door and get next to her friend, then followed her in the back of the plane. The copilot took his place back, and the SM-94 started to move.

It was a five-passenger aircraft, but the rear bench had been removed to make more storage space and bars with rings also had been added on the walls, holding empty cargo nets. By all accounts this was a smuggler plane, a fact further confirmed by the pile of gray, rough transit blankets stored in the tail end of the cabin. Jessi already was leaning against these, stretching her legs on the floor; her friend imitated her, and the flare shooter used a couple blankets to wedge them.

Now sitting beside the two young women, he finally tossed a quick _'Поехали!'_ ( _Poyekhali!_ , Let's go!) at the rest of the crew. The metal bird gathered speed on the bumpy, potholed runway, before raising on its landing gear. While it was tearing itself away from the ground, the three passengers had to grab the side bars to hold themselves in place – but hopefully this didn't last long. The half-Asian sat back, forgetting about the sputtering of the engine; finally she could let things go.

_"This is Major Tom… to Ground Control…  
I'm stepping… through the door…_

_And I'm floating in a most… peculiar way…  
And the stars look very… different… today…"_

Did she manage to fall asleep, though? Sadly, _no_. Even overwhelmed by drowsiness her consciousness wasn't fading away; despite all the time she had to kill, her sole real distraction thus came down to watch as Jessi and the flare shooter moved around. The man had tended to the Russian girl's wounded arm and leg right after takeoff, applying pressure to stop the bleeding then bandaging them. The first-aid supplies at his disposal were limited and his torch, now held by Jessi, was the only available source of light, but at least he seemed to know all the procedures exactly.

Coming next was to take stock of Kaiko's condition. The man's hand came to shake her shoulder – clearly he didn't notice how _open_ her eyes were  –, and when he asked if she had injuries that required immediate attention she slowly brought her hands into view. Upon seeing them the blond girl had an aghast look on her face, obviously getting a vivid picture of what happened. The flare shooter as for him held the phalanges of the swollen, deformed right index finger one by one, likely trying to determine the location of the fracture.

Having him doing this hurt a lot, but like during the rest of the night the pain wasn't much more than raw data to the half-Asian. Eventually he seemed to have found the spot, as he took a pen out of his stuff and used a piece of bandage to wrap it together with her finger. Once assured that this makeshift splint kept the latter straight, he moved on to cleaning and covering the exposed nail bed of her other injured fingers; and then he insisted to see if there were other open sores on her body.

When he grasped her jacket to take it off Kaiko recoiled, slapping his hands away in a brief, sudden burst of energy.

"Да что блин с тобой не так?!" (Da chto blin s toboy ne tak?!, _What the hell is wrong with you?!_ )

The anger in his voice had to be due to incomprehension more than anything else – that was why the blond girl held him back saying;

"Позволь мне сделать это." (Pozvol' mne sdelat' eto., _Let me do it_.)

He frowned at this, but moved out of her way. The half-Asian this time let her back, torso and arms be examined. She looked away all along, preferring not to see what could be found there; particularly as Jessi asked for some wounds to be treated immediately. The Russian girl tried to soothe her with words and light touch as the shooter disinfected them, and made even greater efforts while the same had to be done to Kaiko's legs.

"Нам предстоит ещё долгий путь. Давай отдохнём." (Nam predstoit yeshcho dolgiy put'. Davay otdokhnom., _We still have a long way to go. Let's get some rest_.)

Hearing him saying it just when the sharp stinging of the alcohol ceased was like a liberation for the half-Asian. She'd naturally need to be seen as soon as possible by a doctor once on the ground, but being patched up even in the slightest way and not having to expose her skin any further was a very welcome comfort.

"Пей." (Pey., _Drink._ ), the man then ordered, giving her a bottle of water.

She did so without a word, trying to ignore the foul taste the liquid had in her dry throat – without him she'd likely have overlooked at how dehydrated she had to be at that point. Telling herself that the man did deserve some gratitude for all he did so far, she waited that he finished to put his stuff away to have her feeble voice ask;

"Как тебя зовут?" (Kak tebya zovut?, _What's your name?_ )

"Артём." (Artyom.), he tersely answered.

"Спасибо за всё, что ты делаешь для нас, Артём." (Spasibo za vso, chto ty delayesh' dlya nas, Artyom., _Thanks for everything you do for us, Artyom._ )

 _Artyom_ gave a simple nod of acceptance, and handed Jessi a pack of chocolate bars. The blond girl presented one to Kaiko, but the latter shook her head. She'd eventually acknowledge she shouldn't have, but right now she didn't want to eat anything. Incidentally she had no desire either to ask any question on who Artyom was, why he was here or where they were heading to – If Jessi trusted him, then she could do the same. That was how she ended up with nothing else to do other than staring at random points lost in space for the remainder of the flight.

_"Though I'm past… one hundred… thousand miles…  
I'm feeling… very still…_

_And I think my spaceship knows… which way to go…"_

The plane landed in yet another abandoned airfield some time after sunrise; how many kilometers they had travelled since they left Rzhevka, hell if the half-Asian knew. Artyom and the copilot first carried her and Jessi to the back of a dark green van, whose odd round shapes much looked like those of an UAZ-3741. The pilot then helped the two other men to transfer a bulky crate from the aircraft's baggage compartment to the van, but didn't follow them inside the driver's cab.

Ever since the vehicle got on the road Kaiko had been on a downward spiral; she was aching all over, her mind and thoughts were a jumbled mess, and her vision was blurry to the point she now switched between half-sleep and comatose wakefulness. Only sure things she knew were that she was sitting on a wooden bench wrapped in a transit blanket, and that Jessi had been resting on her shoulder for some time already.

Up to there, she had still been able to hear through the cabin's wall the vehicle's radio playing music – Russian hits of the nineties, for the most part. The last track she recognized was the acoustic demo version of Люди на Холме (Lyudi na Kholme, _People on the Hill_ ), by the rock band Nautilus Pompilius;

Иногда мне кажется, что я должен встать (Inogda mne kazhetsya, chto ya dolzhen vstat',  
_Sometimes I feel I should get up_ )  
И отнести тебя, как дитя (I otnesti tebya, kak ditya,  
_And carry you like a child_ )  
Броситься сверху с вершины холма, (Brosit'sya sverkhu s vershiny kholma,  
_For a jump from the top of the hill_ ,)  
Так будет лучше для тебя и меня... (Tak budet luchshe dlya tebya i menya...,  
_It would be better for you and me..._ )

Но мы лежим на склоне холма (No my lezhim na sklone kholma,  
_But we are lying on the hillside_ )  
И мне кажется что это все ерунда... (I mne kazhetsya chto eto vse yerunda...,  
_And it all seems nonsense to me..._ )  
Люди на холме кричат и сходят с ума, (Lyudi na kholme krichat i skhodyat s uma,  
_People on the hill scream and go mad,_ )  
Разбиваются падая с вершины холма... (Razbivayutsya padaya s vershiny kholma...,  
_They crash falling from the top of the hill..._ )

But the tune eventually dissolved into silence in its turn as she slipped into cottony darkness. She didn't struggle; in fact, she felt grateful for it.

_"Ground Control… to Major Tom…  
Your circuit's dead… there's something wrong…_

_Can you hear me… Major Tom…?_  
_Can you hear me… Major Tom…?_  
_Can you hear me… Major Tom…?_  
_Can you…?"_


	30. Chapter 30

_> Playlist paused.  >>>>> Chapter thirty >>>>>_

Two years that she hadn't come here. The realization of everything that happened in the intervening time gave her a strange feeling, as if her previous memories were those of a life that wasn't hers. Two years ago, she was nothing. A rootless, homeless being who survived so far in the streets of St Petersburg owing to petty thefts and some skill with a baseball bat. She had already found an equally homeless friend with whom she roughly shared a language, but both of them were too hungry, too cold… too scared.

Their solidarity was unwavering and selling their bodies always had been out of the question, but aside from this they had left nothing undone to dig themselves out. They had become errand girls for a local gang, despite teasing and threats from full-fledged, male members. They had learnt how to fight – eventually, how to kill. Then came this day, two years ago, when they were offered to become _something_. At first the half-Asian loathed the idea, but obviously ended up accepting the proposition.

So many things had evolved ever since… A knife had replaced her old, stolen bat; she and her Russian friend could afford to eat their fill and own a small flat that kept them warm; other members were somehow less hateful towards them than they used to be; however they both had learnt the cost of their new life. It wasn't just living with murdering sometimes innocent people on command, but with death always threatening to swoop down on them. As such, of everything they had suffered of, fear was the only one to remain. Silent, insidious and deep-seated.

Speaking of which, Kaiko's last brush with the Reaper sadly didn't leave her unharmed. As a consequence of her confrontation with Yuly Karavayev's gang, her face still was disfigured by the gauze pad covering her empty left socket – a constant reminder that the aftermath was in for the long haul. The physical recovery wasn't as difficult as she feared, but the real damage was on the mental level. Her revenge had the bitter taste of defeat; not content with having once bought her as cattle, Karavayev eventually managed to brand her as his beyond his own death.

But now, _here_ she stood again; at the door of the place that saw her pledging allegiance to the very man who was welcoming her. Like that other time he let her come in, take her fatigue jacket off and trade her high-top sneakers for the customary slippers. Inside, all had remained substantially the same; the marble column and floor, the paintings on the walls, the cushioned chairs, the damask curtains… even the porcelain vase set on the central pedestal table still made her feel like she had just been transported to the late Romanov era.

What had immediately struck her, though, was his clothing style. Anytime she saw him less sharply dressed than usual he had his open necked shirt and suit pants on all the same; nothing comparable with wearing a cashmere crew neck sweater and anthracite chino trousers. Looking close the former was midnight blue rather than plain black, hence departed from his favored shades of gray while remaining dark enough to still contrast with his pale skin tone… and the white gold Rolex Submariner gleaming on his left wrist.

After she greeted him back he didn't head for the living room she already knew of, but rather opened a door next to the entry one and invited her to go first by outstretching his arm. As she came in she thought the blue dial diving watch had to be a recent acquisition, since she didn't remember him sporting anything else than a leather strapped Omega Seamaster. She couldn't imagine how loaded the man was; the day when she would be able get items like this on a whim wasn't to come quite soon, even with what she was paid for big hits.

The way the library she walked in was decorated further confirmed the last part of her thinking. All the antique furniture was carefully matched, carved in solid mahogany and embellished with gilt bronze accents; two imposing, well-filled bookcases stood against the right wall, a third, smaller one could be found next to the door she just passed, a slipper chair upholstered in ivory cream linen had been placed on her left to provide the necessary comfort for a quiet reading, and a large pedestal desk was midway in between so the room could also be used as a study.

She didn't venture to take a closer look, but still could guess from her experience with him and what she could glimpse of the books' spines the kind of titles that were on the shelves; works on politics, military theory and history, perhaps ballistics to have an insight into hard science topics, linguistics, arts, literature – certainly including the obligatory Russian classics such as Tolstoy's _Anna Karenina_ and _War and Peace,_ Dostoyevsky's _The Brothers Karamazov_ or Pushkin's poetry – and so on.

"Please have a seat.", her host said, showing her to the padded chair.

Right in front of her, on a small oval table beside the twin bookcases, was a matryoshka doll. Instead of a peasant girl in traditional Russian dress, its fine gold gilded outer layer depicted a reproduction of a famous Orthodox icon, the _Vladimir Virgin and Child_.  She didn't remember to have come across a so beautifully painted piece, and yet another detail drew her attention as she quietly sat down.

A hardback edition of John le Carré's _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy_ laid around on the desk; the cover also depicted a matryoshka, a basic one though. One of the un-nested layers was opened, as a nod to the antagonist knowing a deeply buried secret of the double agent he had among the main characters. The hint of irony to be found in a Russian mafia boss reading a Cold War spy tale for entertainment was palpable, but perhaps was even more biting as these dolls encapsulated his essence all too well.

Of the many faces he showed the world – there definitely was more than two –, she had no idea which one she could consider as his truest. Most of the time he was the merciless crime lord and the cocky, unscrupulous businessman, but scratching the surface would reveal that he could also put on either the tough but fair leader's or the elegant charmer's hat. Right now he was the home-loving history buff, on other occasions the shady military figure. He certainly enjoyed himself confusing the issue not to let anyone find his innermost layer… but in the end, did he remember himself what the latter looked like?

In any case, he took a teapot from the metal tray placed near le Carré's novel to pour lemon tea not in china cups, but in two glasses set in finely engraved, silver-plated holders – traditionally known in Russian as подстаканники (podstakanniki). As she accepted one of these peculiar mugs, she remembered to have already come across less refined specimens in local sleeper carriages; who knew, maybe the one that was nicely warming her hands had belonged in the Trans-Siberian's first classes in bygone times.

 

 _'I want you to eliminate Yuly Petrovich Karavayev.'_ It was by these words that everything had started, about a week earlier. Both of them were facing each other in the CEO office of the brand new headquarters tower the Tretyak Corp. had recently moved into. At first the name didn't ring a bell to the half-Asian, but it did as soon as she was showed the man's mug shot. Despite how much she'd rather she forgot it, she'd have recognized his lean, craggy face anywhere.

The reddish blond man's main argument back when hiring her was to promise her vengeance on those who had stolen her life away, and Karavayev was one of those. While she had never known her old enemy's name until then, her employer hadn’t just managed to find it after a thorough search among Muscovite mobsters, but had interest in having it erased from the book of life. His only instruction was that nobody learn she was a Syndicate member – for everything else, especially the execution method, she had been given _carte blanche_.

But the day she went reaping the benefits of their collaboration, she had to quickly ditch her initial plans. Events went awry in so much that the noxious Vadka came to cut her eye off, then suggest his fellow gang members to have fun in their turn. Their mistake was to listen to him and remove her from the chair she was pinned into; only thanks to that she could stake all her remaining resources to gain control of Vadka's trench knife, sever her restraints  and slay every last one of them. 

"What happened to you is absolutely regrettable.", Janus finally declared, having settled in a guest chair he had moved to face her. "Particularly since the rest of the operation is an almost flawless success."

Her sole reaction to this was a sad shrug. Did he really think that?

"I know what you are feeling. You think you've lost the war, even though you did not; worse still, your own reflection screams it every time you look in the mirror."

Her lone green eye stared up at his own half-ruined face. She had expected someone in such a powerful position as his to serve her fake compassion, not to look too heartless when eventually discarding her. With part of his promise fulfilled and her permanently unfit for service, he had no obligation to go any further after all. But instead his words bore an undeniable sincerity, and that for a simple reason; it was from personal experience that he spoke.

"And what did you do to pick yourself up?", she queried, curious to hear what he'd say about it.

"Learn to live with my new appearance."

"Didn't you ever consider to remove the scar?"

"When treating the burn the doctors did their best to minimize it, but after the surgery the skin graft contracted due to an infection." His face slightly clouded as he said it, further confirming this wasn't something he'd reveal anybody. "A lot of pain, for a mediocre result… I don't think this is worth starting over."

"Tough luck indeed."

After a sip of the warm tea she remained quiet. She definitely wanted to learn more about him, but a little voice in her mind warned her that even assuming he'd accept to unveil any of his other secrets it wouldn't be safe for her to know. The less she'd be informed on, the more likely she'd be able to eventually quit gangland without anyone coming to either make her spill the beans or silence her… quite a nearing possibility, as it happened.

"At least you shouldn't have such complications when getting a prosthesis." He paused for a bit. "Anyway the real point is, Karavayev's death is now officially confirmed. Congratulations."

"Yet I've heard _'almost flawless'_ , haven't I?"

"It happens that one of the girls recognized you, but all she could tell was that you once worked alongside her. I had the gang's computer system purged, so the odds are negligible that someone recovers your name – let alone picture." At the look of worry that briefly crossed her face, he added; "Besides, Karavayev wasn't that much of a big shot. Hopefully you won't have to lay low for too long until the dust settles."

She sighed. She couldn't help but feel as if she were back to when he convinced her to become one of his operatives. Yet again he wouldn't let her out, but what could he offer her now? While having her kill a rival Russian mobster didn't detract from his interests, sending her to remote Japan so she could off her true nemesis clearly did. It was too far away from his territory, and she was ranking too low to be accorded the needed resources to  carry out such an operation. On the other hand, rousing the fury of the Aizukotetsu-kai – one of the most feared yakuza families – without any support was suicide… so this was nothing but a no-win situation.

"Not only he wasn't on top of my kill list, but I didn't even get my efforts' worth.", she thought aloud, gritting her teeth.

"Well then, this may give you seconds thoughts about it."

Opening the file he was handing her, she found the copy of an article from the Kyōto Shinbun, her hometown's newspaper. After the initial surprise of coming across a text written in her native language, the true shock came when she started to read it.

指定暴力団会津小鉄会「一権威会」の山内治郎会長（４５）が２７日夕方、右京区の住宅で死んでいるのを発見された。( _Shitei bōryokudan Aizukotetsu-kai_ 'Ichiken'i-kai' _no Yamauchi Jirō kaichō (yonjū-go) ga nijū-shichi-nichi yūgata, Ukyō-ku no jūtaku de shinde iru no o hakken sa reta._ The 45-year-old head of the Aizukotetsu-kai gang _'Ichikeni-kai'_ , Jirō Yamauchi, was found dead in his Ukyō Ward house on the evening of the 27th.)

Further down was the sole other significant sentence of the whole thing;

警察は対立する団体に殺されたと結論を下した。( _Keisatsu wa tairitsusuru dantai ni korosareta to ketsuron o kudashita._ The police concluded that he was murdered by a rival organization.)

It took her some long seconds to shake herself out of her stunned speechlessness. 

"もう四年か…" ( _Mō shi-nen ka…._ , Four years already…)

This last whisper came out when she saw the date, _June 2008_. Four years; her family's murderer, the very one who stripped her out of her dignity, had been dead this entire time… and she wouldn't have known. In the first place she refused to believe he had been assassinated even before she started to willingly tangle with the Russian mafia, but she had to acknowledge the evidence. Her vengeance was _complete_.

How did Janus find the article? Why didn't he show it to her earlier? Those two questions weren't of much importance, as the result remained the same. She had slaughtered Karavayev and his men just as they deserved to be, and despite her crippling injury she was alive.

"Free from your past at last, aren't you?", the reddish-blond man quietly asked, his hands joined together.

"I’m afraid that if I totally were I'd still have my eye."

"Spirited as you are I doubt it'll be an impediment. Have you ever heard of Léo Major?" She shook her head.  "He was a French Canadian soldier who lost an eye to a phosphorus grenade. It didn't prevent him from continuing service as a sniper and single-handedly liberating a German-occupied city a year later."

The tale reminded her of Date Masamune, the _One-Eyed Dragon of Ōshu_ , one of the most famous and powerful lords of feudal Japan. A renowned tactician, he went as far as using his disability to strike fear among his opponents. Not that she intended to do the same, but it achieved to convince her that intensive training might as well get her used to her new condition.

Her host stood up, moving closer to her to lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Listen. Since you have already done impressive things, it would be a shame to waste your potential – for this reason, the only person you'll be accountable to from now on is me." She suddenly lifted her gaze to him, but he foresaw her next thought. "Naturally, if your friend Jessika proves deserving she should be promoted too."

Leaving the organization would equate to scrapping a couple years' worth of both sacrifices and progress. Outside, she still was nothing; here she had just entered the closed circle of Janus' personal henchmen, a position she'd notably share with the infamous Xenia Onatopp – of course they'd be a long way from being considered as equals, but still, no wonder that there were stars in her eye as she looked at him. It was at this point she realized that she had finally moved from fearing to respecting him… and that he seemed to appreciate her in return.


	31. Chapter 31

_> Playlist resuming…  >>>>> Chapter thirty-one >>>>>_

_ >>>>> _ _The Beatles, "Because"_

 _"Because… the world is round… it turns me on…_  
_Because… the world is…_  
_Round..."_

The first thing she felt on coming back to her senses was the gentle breeze blowing across her face. In that uncertain moment between visions of her past and shadows of the present, she eventually perceived that she was laying down; consciousness could then start to flood in through this breach in her slumber.

A headache put her down for the count, with the pain beginning to explode all over her when she tried to move. The sadistic bastard was concentrating the power of its blows on one spot of her forehead, to the point that she'd rather she could have hacked her skull open to let it out. But with pretty much all her muscles being sore, raising a hand to the area only got a wailing sound out of her instead of making things any better. Drained, starved and dazed as she was, if it hadn't been for the indistinct voices coming close to her… her whine would certainly have turned into sobs.

Hands came on her, and she – or perhaps just her thoughts – instantly thrashed about. Was she in Warehouse 8? If she were, the last thing she wanted was letting Janus' lapdogs tearing her and dragging her by the teeth. _'No!'_ This wouldn't end like this. Not even with her strength all gone and her will shot to hell. In reality, though, this mental order to herself was of little weight compared to the terror caused by the memory of what the two-faced and his right-hand woman intended to do to her. That, along with the excruciation the slightest move of hers caused to both her body and mind, quite obviously crushed her already feeble resistance.

"Полегче, сестричка, полегче." (Polegche, sestrichka, polegche., _Easy sis, easy_.)

 _'Jessi.'_. With that single thought it all came back to her – she wasn't in Saint Petersburg anymore, but most likely a long shot away by then. As she allowed the hands to carefully shift her position, she vaguely remembered of the red propeller airplane on Rzhevka's tarmac and the UAZ van she and her Russian friend had been loaded into after the flight. Judging from the hardness of the surface she had been lying on up to there, she might have not left the truck yet. Thus the question was; how long had the latter been on the road?

"Дыши." (Dyshi. , _Breathe._ )

It was at this moment she understood that she was still holding her breath, due to her earlier adrenaline rush not having totally plummeted. For some seconds she felt as if she were drowning, until she managed to overcome the pain in her chest and take some short, irregular inhalations. Being helped to sit up on what had to be the edge of the van's floor made it easier; that way she could rest her elbows on her thighs, hence lean her chest forward and relax her neck and shoulders.

There was a pleasant smell of grilled meat in the air, so she finally found the courage to open her eyes in the uncontrollable hunger it triggered. In the first seconds the light blinded her, but it wasn't so hard for her to get accustomed to it. She then could begin to scan her immediate surroundings, taking the time necessary to process the flow of new information.

Next to her sat Jessi, stroking her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. The Russian girl's smile was gentle, despite being sadly tarnished by what could be worry, suffering, or perhaps both. In front of them stood Artyom, the flare shooter, a paper plate in his hands. It seemed he had just given up his seat to Kaiko; it wasn’t long until he squatted down flat-footed beside the last part of the team – the plane’s copilot, if she remembered well – and resumed his eating while the other man opened a can of local light beer.

Glancing over her friend's own plate, the half-Asian understood where the appetizing smell came from; pork шашлыки (shashlyki), or in other words skewers of marinated meat, a very popular form of kebab across Slavic countries.

"Хочешь?" (Khochesh'?, _Want some?_ )

It definitely wasn't Artyom's voice she heard, thus she tilted her head straight towards the copilot. That one had an inquiring look on his face that confirmed she wasn't wrong, but when she answered his question with an affirmative nod he gave a slight frown. Given that he didn't say anything standing up and setting off, her best guess was that he had been unsettled by the sight of her silvery eye. Not that it really mattered though; the longer he wouldn't question her about it, the better.

Watching as he went get her a шашлык (shashlyk), she spotted the hawker who barbecued those over a мангал (mangal) – some kind of ember stove without a grill. Not managing to get a good look on the vendor, she tried to take a clearer one of the general area. The nearby fuel pumps and red and white metal canopy revealed they were on the parking lot of a gas station; the total absence of clouds in the sky and the dust littering the ground indicated arid climate. They indeed were a very long way from Piter's cold, soggy forests… and since it was sunset time, they had driven a good twelve hours already.

"Где мы?" (Gde my?, _Where are we?_ ), she eventually decided to ask.

"В Калмыкии, городе Комсомольский." (V Kalmykii, gorode Komsomol'skiy., _In Kalmykia. Komsomolskiy_.), Artyom answered in between bites.

"А куда едем?" (A kuda yedem?, _Where to?_ )

She didn't know her Russian geography so well, still she was pretty sure the Republic of Kalmykia was located south of the country, along the Caucasus. Her sudden realization at thinking of this slipped out of her mouth even before her previous question was answered.

"В Азербайджан?" (V Azerbaydzhan?, _Azerbaijan?_ )

"Да." (Da., _Yes_.), the flare shooter said with a nod. "Валентин Дмитриевич послал меня." (Valentin Dmitriyevich poslal menya., _Valentin Dmitrievich sent me_.)

Bending back down, she remained pensive for a bit; now _that_ was unexpected, although logical. Her friends of Miami – as Onatopp would put it – had actually busted  their humps to retrieve her from the гад's clutches, since Zukovsky wouldn't have given a single damn about her if not for money. This was rather good news as to whether she could put her trust in Artyom and his buddy or not… and it saved her still hazy mind from having to immediately hear the whole story of how they got to her.

Taking the plate the copilot came back with, she started right away to devour its contents. Like the ones served to the rest of the crew, the skewer had been unthreaded so the vendor could reuse the metal sticks he cooked them on; it resulted in the dish essentially consisting in a mix of thick pieces of pork neck and slices of onion. Her luck was there had been enough vinegar in the marinade to make the meat tender, so she could slowly chew on it while not minding the excess of fat.

At one point, her wandering gaze met something strange in the distance. It looked like a roof covered with yellow glazed tiles – an architectural feature characteristic of traditional buildings in the Far East, but _a priori_ not in southern Russia. It made her nudge her friend's arm at once;

"What's with the pagoda?"

"No idea, let's ask." The blonde girl turned to the two squatting Slavs. "Что это там за пагода?" (Chto eto tam za pagoda?, _What's that pagoda over there?_ )

Artyom conceded his ignorance by a slight shrug. His neighbor, as for him, had a sip of his beer before quietly stating;

"Калмыки — потомки монголов. Это напоминает им о родине, я думаю." (Kalmyki — potomki mongolov. Eto napominayet im o rodine, ya dumayu., _Kalmyks are descendants of the Mongols. It reminds them of their homeland I guess_.)

 _"Because… the wind is high… it blows my mind…_  
_Because… the wind is…_  
_High..."_

A hard jolt woke her up. She was taken aback for a few seconds, until she understood what happened. She had been so wary of having more flashbacks by falling asleep that her mind somehow replicated every sensation around her, to the extent that she hadn't even noticed she did drift off at some point. In her dream, the train wheels still produced steady clickity-clacks as they passed over rail joints, she still peacefully huddled together with Jessi to share warmth; in real life, Artyom might still be resting next to the mysterious crate that had been following them since Rzhevka, but he wasn't napping any longer.

Instead he was reading a dog-eared novel by flashlight, the lack of transition between total darkness and the lamp's illumination providing yet another proof that her heavy eyelids had been closed all along. She slowly rubbed off the mist over her eyes, avoiding sudden moves to neither refresh her pain nor disturb Jessi. Eventually she could figure out how the book was called; _Последнее желание_ ( _Posledneye zhelaniye_ ). That title, in addition to the white-haired swordsman depicted on the cover, revealed it to be a Russian edition of _The Last Wish_ – namely the first installment of famous Polish fantasy series _The Witcher_.

She had a faint smile, having read an English copy of that very volume not long ago. It could have been fun to decipher the Cyrillic script, let alone helpful for expanding her vocabulary and reading skills, but she didn't feel like doing any such thing for the moment. Right then she rather felt an urge to eat something, which made her hand reach out to the nearby bag of cherry пряники (pryaniki) and extract one of the little jam-filled, round gingerbreads it contained.

The train ride was so slow that eating soon wouldn't be sufficient to occupy herself anymore. They had got on board about an hour after crossing the city of Makhachkala, which was within two hundred kilometers of the Azerbaijani border – but the plague of Russian freight trains, as she rapidly found out, was their average speed. Based on her assessments, twenty kilometers an hour might have been the absolute maximum so far. Patience would be rewarded, though. The driver had agreements with customs of both sides, meaning that control of that particular carriage would be conveniently skipped. At least, that was what Artyom said.

As she took another bite of her treat, she tried to come up with a breakdown of the whole journey. From what she heard, the godforsaken airfield the smuggler plane brought them to was located in the Tambov область (oblast', _region_ ), about four hundred and a half kilometers south of Moscow. Next they drove all the way to beyond Makhachkala, only making a stop in Komsomolskiy for fuel refill and food. When they finally got out of the van, it was pitch black; more than a day had passed since she and Jessi fled from the storage facility now, but they still were on Russian soil.

Thinking of this made her realize she had almost forgotten how big the country actually was. In the distant past when she had been uprooted from Japan, getting to Moscow from Far-Eastern Vladivostok by bus had taken more than a week. It was therefore rather fortunate that she mostly slept this time, otherwise all the available entertainment would have been provided by the sight of the oh so Slavic sun-faded, greenish curtains hanged over the truck's windows and their kitschy yellow patterns. Not that great, to be honest.

In spite of this, she hadn't lost hope of reaching their destination just yet. While they were waiting in the night by the railroad tracks, she gleaned from the way the lights in the distance were reflected that a sea was just below them. The Caspian Sea. Further down on the same shore Baku was waiting for them; the blaring horn of the incoming heavy-duty electric locomotive hence sounded to her like a call for the final charge.

The copilot had led the three of them to one of the carriers once the giant mechanical snake halted. Obviously this little stunt to sneak in contraband wasn't new; the boxcar wasn't locked and had two stacks of packaged metal sheets as its sole contents, permitting him and Artyom to lift the heavy wooden box and the two young women to the space in between. Fortunately for Kaiko and Jessi, he didn't forget that their clothes weren't as warm as their companion's and let them keep the cargo blanket they used as a bedroll. After he slid the thick steel door closed, last the half-Asian heard of him was the UAZ's engine sound fading away.

Suddenly, back in the present, the train began to brake. By the time it came to full stop, Jessi had started moving and Artyom already had abandoned his reading to crouch next to the door and press his ear against it.

"КПП." (KPP.), he whispered a few moments later, putting a finger to his lips to command the girls silent.

These three letters were short for Контрольно-Пропускной Пункт (Kontrol'no-Propusknoy Punkt), the Russian for _'crossing point'._ As promised customs didn't bother them, and an hour turned out to be enough for their journey to resume as if they had never been there. Kaiko's growing stress whilst the inspection was carried out turned into excitation at once; at last they were leaving the two-faced's turf forever behind, at last they were free! Sadly a screeching halt of her cheer followed the next half hour's ride… that is to say, at the Azerbaijani checkpoint.

"Çıxasınız! Çıxasınız!" (Chykhasynyz! Chykhasynyz!)  

It wasn't hard to understand what the border guards were yelling at them. _'Get out! Get out!'_ A single bark from the sniffer dog, and the squad had stormed to the non-locked carriage. Five men sporting green combat fatigues and patrol caps; one handling the animal, two holding Kalashnikovs – experience and magazine shapes told her that one was an AKM and the other an AK-74 –, one carrying a toolbox and the last one apparently leading them.

A positive aspect to being pulled out of that steel coffin, however brutally it was done, was to get some morning light and fresh air following an eternity spent in greasy, rust-smelling darkness – but there weren't many others to be found. Beside the fact that being at an AKM's gunpoint was everything but a pleasant position the young women had to cling to each other, the dazzle and flaring-up of their respective injuries both threatening their fragile balance.

Meanwhile, verbal jousting had already begun between Artyom, the leader and yet another man the Kaiko assumed to be the train driver. Since they were quarrelling in Azeri, she didn't get a word of what was being said – though given the outraged face the leader pulled when the flare shooter offered him banknotes, the ensuing _'cəsarət etmə!'_ ( _jasarat etma!_ ) had to be something like _'don't you dare!'_. However the man's acting instantly aroused her suspicion, for this sounded more like blackmail than actual dedication.

"Bu nədir?" (Bu nadir?)

The guard with the AK-74 had got into the boxcar, designating the mysterious crate. His last question had to be on what it was, but the driver and the stowaways remained silent. The leader gestured towards the tools guy, who took a crowbar from his gear and climbed in his turn to crack the box open. A look of surprise appeared on his face, which was soon explained by what could be recognized through the plastic pouch he had grasped – a white fur hat.

All eyes came on Artyom, who started to speak in a quick, perceptibly embarrassed tone. Some more exchanges got the guards allowing him to the uncovered shipment of fur items, and a quick search later he pulled out five arctic fox collars. High-end smartphones would have certainly been better baksheesh material, but in the end they had no better options. Entry denial being out of the question, they had to stake their all… the whole freight included.

"Arvadlarınız üçün." (Arvadlarynyz uchun.), the flare shooter pleaded with the dubious guards, also handing them the earlier cash.

'早くしろ!' ( _Hayakushiro!_ , _Hurry!_ ), she thought as the customs officers discussed the offer among themselves. She was beginning to feel a very uncomfortable lightheadedness, which wasn't good news with the negotiation taking ages. It wasn't time to faint, they could still go for plain and simple detention – particularly if they came to think that her sorry state was Artyom's doing. Hanging on tighter to Jessi and closing her eyes helped her a bit to control the situation, but it wouldn't totally prevent her sick feeling from getting worse every second.

"… Olsun."

When the leader sealed the deal by that word, the AK-74 guy snatched the collars from the flare shooter's hands and silently jumped out of the carrier; his crowbar colleague soon did the same. The dog handler was pointing to his wristwatch, probably to mean that they were late or even that someone could discover their dirty business. His boss gestured everyone to move on, much to Kaiko's relief. As she sat again on the cold metal floor, her symptoms gradually decreased. No more messing around now; either they smoothly made it to Zukovsky's place, or her pistons would end up failing for good.

 _"Because… the sky is blue… it makes me cry…_  
_Because… the sky is…_  
_Blue…"_


	32. Chapter 32

_> Playlist continuing…  >>>>> Chapter thirty-two >>>>>_

_ >>>>> Matt Monro, "From Russia with Love"_

_"From Russia… with love…  
I fly to you…_

_Much wiser since my… goodbye…  
To you…"_

"Miss Morikawa, how very nice to see you again."

_Valentin Dmitrievich Zukovsky_. During her absence, that one had remained true to himself; as jolly and colorful as his right leg was lame. The sole differences she could spot was that his suit was of a dimmer gray, with the single-breasted jacket kept closed and a tie rather than a bowtie. Although she wasn't in the mood for reciprocating the soft soap in his greeting, the tone she took to answer him wasn't harsh or curt, much to her own surprise. Somehow… she was pleased to see him again.

"I see you asked around about me."

"Come now, you know this is only fair."

While she had been laid up in one of Baku's international clinics for nearly a week already, this was the first time the mob boss came to visit her. She was almost surprised he didn't bring a bunch of flowers to mark the occasion – not that she would have particularly liked it, but rather that she figured someone so flamboyant wouldn't have missed an opportunity to show off the size of his wallet.  _'Oh well'_ , the hint of concern creeping into his big, smug smirk as he moved closer was a much more pleasant sign of attention anyway. So was his next question;

"I've seen you in better health though, haven't I?"

Giving a slight shrug, she leant back on the pillow supporting her. Under her hospital gown the layers of bandage mummifying her ribcage were clearly visible, complementing those around most nails of her left hand, the splint on her right index finger and the tubes connecting her to bags of blood and other intravenous fluids. All these hinted at how weak she was right now, yet only were the tip of the iceberg; over the course of a few days and without even trying too hard, Xenia had caused far greater damage than was apparent.

"Such a keen sense of perception you have.", she quietly answered, her eyes half-shut with drowsiness. Despite her being more dead than alive, for some reason the energy for sarcasm was still there.

"In your position, cracking wise might not be your smartest move. Who knows what someone like me could do to a defenseless Janus operative, hm?"

" _Ex_ -operative, I insist." Probably helped by his easygoingness, ammunition for her own banter kept coming easier and easier. "Other than that, well… do your worst. A couple more whacks won't make much difference at this point."

Zukovsky laughed like a bear at this last line, making her unable to help smiling in spite of how uncomfortable the sudden surge of noise was to her ears. To be honest she didn't understand how she could sound so happy, since her morale hadn't quite been evolving in that direction lately. Using their perfect English the doctors and nurses had tried their best to be of some comfort all along, yet she had become more and more silent and withdrawn over time – that is, up to that moment.

"I like you, young lady. You clearly are tougher than many people out there." Now this was nice to hear, regardless of her current emotional state. "Also don't worry, if I weren't on your side I would have never sent anyone to help you."

"I presume Scaramanga tipped you off on this?"

"Indeed. But I won't lie to you, this was a risky gamble I wouldn't have made shouldn't he have been so persuasive. Janus has already taken much from me, and for all the pleasure I take in giving him the finger I wasn't willing to lose Artyom in the process."

While giving a nod she grabbed the trapeze bar over her bed, lifting herself up to slightly change position. Of her many injuries invisible to Zukovsky, by far the most troublesome one was the bedsore she started to develop on her tailbone by sitting for so many hours straight on the torture chair. Pillows had been placed under her to alleviate the pressure as she stayed bedridden, but frequent motion was of the essence; or else the shallow wound would start necrotizing again.

"Obviously you came to change your mind." A sly smirk formed on her lips as her next question occurred to her, but she had to wait for a harsh coughing fit to stop before asking it. "How much have you been paid for that?"

No need to sugarcoat her words, the two of them knew just as well as the other this whole thing was all about money. Yet for some reason Zukovsky suddenly sounded like he needed to save face;

"Enough to make up for any setback." Being shot an insistent glare, he eventually gave up the exact amount. "A hundred and fifty thousand US."

The wolf whistle that ensued would have likely made Onatopp herself turn around. With the addition of last time's bucks, he had made quarter a million without too much pain… no wonder why he didn't feel any urge to brag about it.

"You don't miss a trick, do you?"

"Well tell me, where would you be if I refused?" Seeing him saying that with a shrug, the half-Asian was at a loss for words. _'On the wrong side of a meat cleaver…'_ , she mentally answered, _'… but this doesn't answer my question.'._ "Fortunately for you, I deemed that a seasoned veteran like Francisco Scaramanga wouldn't care about anybody if not for their potential; and when he explained that your deepest desire was to burn the Cossack alive, I realized that I might have use for someone like you."

In other words, the current return on investment wasn't satisfactory enough to him. _'Fine.'_ He was lucky that what was between the two-faced and her was very personal indeed, otherwise she would be fed up already to have yet someone else intending to use her as a proxy soldier. Still she'd wait for the tale of how Jessi came to pry her out from Warehouse 8 to assess Artyom's real contribution to the case – if one thing was sure, it was that giving more than Zukovsky actually gave them wouldn't go unchallenged.

" _'Burn alive'_... what a lovely way of saying it." The thought left her pensive for a bit, until she focused back again on finding out the mobster's intentions. "You should know I'm already engaged with partners of our mutual Catalan friend, though."

"Which is why I am not offering you a full time job, but rather that if one day I manage to set up my return to Piter... I shall demand you to return the favor."

"Oh." Actually, this sounded fairer a deal than anything she expected. "Well in that case, I believe this can be arranged."

"Very well.", Zukovsky said with audible satisfaction.

Hopefully he'd support her vengeance without resorting to either Goldfinger's shiftiness or Scaramanga's fancy words and roundabouts. Worst case scenario she could think of was that he traded her and Jessi to improve negotiation with the Janusian scumbags when in a tight spot, but it sounded like a complete turnaround from how he just dealt with them. However, what she most needed to keep in mind at the present stage was that she didn't know him enough to be sure of anything, good or bad.

"Are you going to survive until then?"

This interruption of her mental back-and-forth briefly took her aback. She gave a slight sigh, then looked up at him.

"Well… Xenia Onatopp didn't pull any punches, but I take it from what the doc said that I haven't lost at her sick little game yet."

"The Georgian woman, is that right?" She nodded. "I remember her. There was a running joke my men had back in the day; если придется умереть, то это будет между ног чурки (yesli pridetsya umeret', to eto budet mezhdu nog churki)."

Now it was Kaiko's turn to crack up, but her hurt ribs quickly stifled even her quietest chuckle. Regardless, her amusement continued just as strong for what she grasped from that jest – _'If I have to die, I'll do it between the чурка's legs'_ – was most delightful to her. In particular, this чурка (churka) was a very offensive slur for immigrants from the Caucasus and Central Asia… that hinted at them being as intelligent as blocks of wood.

"How bad an idea, she wouldn't be in the mood for legwork after being called that way."

"How so?"

"Only time that word was dropped in my presence the guy went out with a face even a mother wouldn't love… and the legend says she once shot dead another such poor bastard." She paused, kneading the upper right side of her abdomen to ease sudden pain. "Though that may explain why she tries so hard to hide her natural tan under pale foundation. Не хочешь, чтобы тебя чуркой называли – не выгляди как чурка. (Ne khochesh', chtoby tebya churkoy nazyvali – ne vyglyadi kak churka., _If you don't want to be called a чурка, don't look like a чурка._ )"

Zukovsky snorted at this, though she felt more amazement in it than pure mockery. She had a grin, and thought that she and Jessi never really used чурка to refer to the Ossetian. After all, while the latter hated to be called an idiot, not only _spider_ fitted her general demeanor much better, but was a perfect counterpart to the primary meaning of гад – _reptile_.

"I can see Janus knows how to pick his women."

The quip cut her so much to the quick that her next glare must have felt like a death ray. Not that this statement was wrong, but rather that she didn't need to be reminded how the two-faced's shadow stuck to her like black tar. She'd be damned if she ever got to be a Janus woman again; if Zukovsky was to play skeptic all along, he might as well go to hell and forget about any potential cooperation of hers.

"He sure does. How about you?", she bluntly countered.

"Ha, time will tell."

_'Right… right.'_ She got too carried away with this, what the mob boss clearly was asking of her right now was nothing but loyalty. Taking some long breaths to calm her pulsating heart down she closed her eyes, to better ignore how her chest and liver hurt as she did. In the end, her apparent good mood was only a thin and fragile mask… but it was a shame she hadn't been able to make the most of it all the way through.

_"I've seen places… faces…  
And smiled… for a moment…_

_But oh… you haunted me so…"_

"I wonder…" Zukovsky somehow hesitated to put his next question; did her acid tone actually dent his high spirits? "Would you allow me an unrelated query?"

"Sure."

"I can't remember of your eye being of this color when we last met, why is that?"

" _Oh._ "

Legitimate question, she had totally forgotten he had never seen her prosthetic eye before. She'd have expected that Scaramanga to inform him about it, but it would visibly be her job. Putting her worries about her attitude away, she went for a quick and calm explanation;

"Because… well, let's simply say this thing permits me to see as if I still had my real eye. Last time I just was wearing a contact over it."

"Now isn't that interesting tech the Cossack has…", the mobster muttered. "Are there many other… users?"

"Only one to my knowledge – you might meet him someday, actually. And rest assured, this is not Janus tech."

The eventuality of him encountering Golden was quite amusing already, but any possible meeting between the latter and the baldhead bodyguard would likely be even more interesting. Both being tall, swarthy piles of angry muscles, they were as likely to get along as comrades-in-arms as to lock horns like a pair of bulls.

"I see."

As she was running out of things to say, an absent look towards the wall-mounted TV set reminded her that she had an urgent query in store. Although she had access to foreign cable channels such as CMGN, MTV Classic or TV1000 Action, she was getting bored of the proposed programs . The same news were like always repeated over and over again, the so-called classics much lacked eighties New Wave titles, the majority of the translated American action movies she could watch to train her Russian ear came with insipid voice-over instead of true dubbing – and worst of all, the noise tended to quickly annoy her.

"May I make a small request in return?"

 Zukovsky switched to his most obliging tone at once;

"Of course, how can I help you?"

"Would it be possible to get me books? There is no library I could borrow from in here."

"Any preferences?"

"Sci-fi, crime, history, or anything as long as it's in English, French, Japanese… or understandable Russian."

"Do you speak all of these languages?" She only gave a slight shrug at his perceptible astonishment, which prompted him to squint and act unimpressed. "Very well, I'll ask my men then."

"Большое спасибо." (Bol'shoye spasibo., _Many thanks_.), she simply said, a warmer smile now creeping on her lips.

_"To Russia… I flew…  
But there and then…_

_I suddenly knew…  
You'd care… again…"_

"Good morning!"

Zukovsky had left for some time already when the charge nurse of the ward came in, pushing a medical trolley. Her name was Melek, a lovely middle-aged Azerbaijani woman who had seen the half-Asian every day since her admission. Did she get tips for that, Kaiko didn't know but didn't really care either. The official story was that she had been roughly beaten up by a violent boyfriend; while she was certain the nurse didn't buy it, the latter always tended to her wounds with the same professional dedication.

"Salam." ( _Hello_.), the half-Asian greeted her back, practicing the few Azeri words she had learnt so far.

"Bu gün necəsiniz?" (Bu ghun nejasiniz?, _How are you today?_ )

"Belə də." (Bela da., _So-so._ )

_'Yaxşı'_ ( _yagshi_ , good) and _'pis'_ (bad) had been quickly discarded as answers. She wasn't hopelessly shaking with pneumonia-induced fever anymore, but the coughs she gave right after she spoke and the pain they caused proved on their own that she was still far from optimum health.

"Alright, tell me everything."

"Bad night yet again, but at least my lungs seem to get better."

"I'll ask if your dose of sleeping pills can be upped. There are no guarantees, but I guess falling asleep more easily should help you. Otherwise, very good news." Kaiko nodded. "Tough Saida told me that you've barely eaten a thing last night, is this true?"

"I'm not really hungry."

"Perhaps, but don't forget that it will take weeks before you'll be fully recovered. Without strength, you'll be all the more vulnerable." As the half-Asian kept silent, she took gauze, disinfectant and a tube of ointment from the trolley. "Anyway, let me see your legs please."

The convalescent put her blanket aside from her wrapped thighs; Melek removed the dressings, revealing horrible, purplish bruises and a number of swollen cuts. As if this wasn't enough already, the X-rays showed a hairline fracture on her right femur, for her muscles had eventually quit and transferred the stress of Xenia's fist and hammer blows to the bone. The doctor who had first examined her upon checking in couldn't have been more right when he stated, _'Whoever did this probably wanted you to die the long way…' –_ then again, she was very lucky that the spider didn't aim for her face, or she'd likely have lost some teeth in the process.

"This is better, but the infection is nastier than I expected.", the nurse noted as she sprayed the wounds with antiseptic solution. Kaiko only watched the treatment's progression, until she decided to ask head-on the one question that was on her mind.

"What about Jessika?"

"Her leg is healing pretty well, she might even be fit for discharge no later than this afternoon."

Hearing this sent a twinge to the half-Asian's heart. Of course it was good to hear that her Russian friend had regained her health, but she was unable not to feel a little sad to be separated from her yet again.

"Still too soon for me, right?"

"Indeed, you should stay for at least a week more. Further bleeding of your liver laceration could be fatal to you, mainly."

Her sole reaction was to press her lips together and close her eyes while Melek moved on to applying antibiotic cream. The next week would be a long one; as a result, asking for books was the smartest move she could have pulled. So far, so good.

_"My… running around…  
Is through…_

_I'd fly to you…  
From Russia… with love…"_


End file.
